Strange Candy
by Era Yachi
Summary: On the turn of Charlie’s twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. WonkaCharlie friendship, non slash. WonkaOC, non slash.
1. A Promised Promise

_Strange Candy_

**Summary: **On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

**Notes: **Can't say much here. I loved the 2005 remake of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I loved the original, too, as a kid. But Burton's adaptation of Wonka is what inspired me to write this fanfiction. Unbelievable as it may seem, it has nothing to do with the attractiveness factor of Johnny Depp or any of his characters. It's Wonka, the character, who's key.

Oddly enough, this is a tragedy. Odd, not because I never write tragedies (I write them quite often, you see.) Odd, simply because there are many points of the story that might seem rather funny. And sappy. But we all like sappy, so long as it's not out of character, right? Right. Heh.

Read and review, or not. I like reviews, but I won't drag them out of you. Just give this fic a chance, yes?

Oh, and the first chapter _is_ quite short. Rest assured, none of the other chapters will be as short as this. Much longer, actually. That's a promise. Seeing as I have like…three other chapters already written. (shrugs)

**Disclaimer: **Roald Dahl, people. I own no one. Except April Banks. You'll get to know her later on.

* * *

_Chapter One: The Promised Promise_

Charlie woke with a start. He knew exactly what day it was. He always remembered. Today was the day he looked forward to all year, whether or not it was sunny or raining, warm or cold. It was his birthday.

He threw off his covers and surged out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets as they tangled around his feet. After a moment of furious kicking, he managed to free himself and dashed over to his closet. He'd thrown off his bed wear and dressed himself in a matter of seconds, running over to stand in front of his brand new mirror. He ran a comb through his hair, smoothed it down with his hands, and practically flew out the door.

"Good morning, Dad!" he cried jovially, bouncing off the last rung of the battered ladder. His father, who sat at the empty table, looked up from his paper and returned the greeting just as enthusiastically.

"Happy birthday, son," he said affectionately, putting the newspaper down to clap the boy on the shoulder. "Feel any older today? You're twelve now, getting a little too big to be sleeping in those old rafters."

"Not really. Not yet," Charlie said excitedly. His next immediate target was the single bed sitting where the old one used to be. The only occupant of the bed happened to be Georgina at the time, so he set upon her with a heartfelt embrace. "Good morning, Grandma Georgina."

"Good morning, Charlie. Congratulations," she said wistfully, returning the hug with her featherlike arms.

Charlie beamed happily. "Thanks," he said. "Where's Grandpa Joe and Grandpa George? And Mom and Mr. Wonka?"

His grandmother did not seem to hear him at all, but that came as no surprise. His father stood up from the table and folded the paper away. "Grandpa Joe and George both went to fetch groceries for your mother. She and Mr. Wonka should be home any time now."

As if on cue, there came a dull thud from the door and a split moment later, it swung open on its crooked hinges to reveal one proudly smiling Willy Wonka and a weary-looking Mrs. Bucket. With the diligence of a glassmaker and the cheeriness of a boy younger than Charlie, Wonka paused just inside the door and offered Mrs. Bucket a violet gloved hand. She took it, for being eight-months-something pregnant was trouble for someone thirty-two years of age. Grateful for the chocolatier's assistance, she stepped through the awkwardly shaped door and into the house.

Mr. Bucket was instantly by her side to help guide her to the table. Wonka stood back, straight and tall, both hands on his cane and two careful eyes surveying the surrounding room. Ever since the news of Mrs. Bucket's pregnancy had been spilt, he'd acted nothing less than an overprotective older brother to Charlie's mother. Charlie always assumed that Wonka was just as excited to have a new addition to the amily, seeing as the Buckets were nothing unlike a new family to Wonka.

"There you are, Charlie!" the chocolatier said, upon spotting the boy. "Isn't it great? Me and the Oompa Loompas have this great, big birthday present just waiting for you, just sitting there all ready to open and eat…"

"Mr. Wonka, it can't really be a surprise if you tell him all about it," Mrs. Bucket interjected with a faint smile. Mr. Bucket was also smiling, his hand giving his wife's shoulder a slight squeeze.

Wonka tilted his head towards her. "A surprise doesn't stop being a surprise unless the surpriser tells the surprisee that's what the present is," he retorted in a know-it-all way. "It just so happens, Charlie doesn't know it's a surprise, so the present must be a surprise!"

"It sounds like fun," said Charlie, before anyone else could comment on his unusual, circular logic. "Thank you very much, Mr. Wonka."

"You're very, very welcome," came the enthusiastic reply. "I know, let's go and open it now! The Oompa Loompas have been _very_ excited ever since they started making it. They're really quite anxious to see you today, Charlie."

Charlie was aware that both his parents were beaming at him – apparently because they knew what the secret was behind this surprise. He felt the familiar boiling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach; he could hardly refrain from appearing _too_ eager, as he didn't want to hurt Mr. Wonka's feelings if something wrong happened. He was also a little disappointed, for it was clear that the chocolatier had forgotten his promise from a few days prior.

Luckily for him, his mother still remembered. "Aren't you and Charlie going into the city today?"

Wonka looked a little startled. "The city? Why would we ever want to do that?"

"It's tradition," Charlie explained, for what seemed to him to be the thousandth time. But he understood fairly. Mr. Wonka was not keen to constant traditions, especially when it came to family ones. "Every year on my birthday, my parents buy me a Wonka chocolate bar from the city. Then they wrap it up and give it to me as a birthday present."

"Well, why didn't they ask the Oompa Loompas to make you one?" Willy asked with honest confusion. "I mean, there's an entire chocolate river just right outside the door."

"I think Charlie was hoping that…you would take him this year," Mr. Bucket explained. "It's more of a tradition to buy the chocolate from a store than get it from the factory. Is…that all right?"

There came a lengthy pause in which Mr. Wonka received this notion. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers from his cane and looked straight at the waiting boy. "Well sure…okay, but...is that what you really want, Charlie?"

Charlie nodded without hesitation. "I'll try to explain it on the way. Thank you for understanding."

"Well then, let's not waste another moment!" Wonka turned around in a spontaneous display of gusto and stepped outside again. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, frozen by some unseen reason. Tactfully, he reached out and prodded the empty air with his cane, drooping with relief when nothing out of the ordinary happened. "Okay," he said brightly. "Just making sure." And he started forward again.

The Buckets exchanged glances, but Charlie just shrugged, and launched forward to catch up with the ever-impulsive chocolatier.

* * *

_Sneak Peek_: A morning in town, a chocolate bar, a very short argument and a detour. And food. Sort of. 


	2. The Sake of Tradition

_Strange Candy_

**Summary: **On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

**Notes**: Wow…that's more reviews than I expected. (blinks) And good to know I'm not the only one who likes Wonka for being…well, Wonka. This here chapter is going to be longer…and probably funnier (and in my opinion, more in-character) and fun. Stuff. Duck. Wait, question: is it spelled 'chocolatier' or 'chocolateer'? I can never decide.

Oh, and…I can't promise updating this quick all the time. The next chapter might be soon, but…well, we'll see after that. I must write story before posting story. (nods) Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Consult previous chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Two: The Sake of Tradition_

It was a quiet Monday, with little business on the sidewalks as hardly a soul dared to leave their homes in the current weather. Visibly, the city was rather pleasant. A mild snowfall covered every inch of the lampposts, mailboxes and street signs and the sky was a dull gray. There were several, fat snowflakes floating on the breeze, dancing lightly in circles and cascading patterns. The air itself was bitter and cold, slicing through even the thickest layers of clothing.

Snow billowed around them as Willy and Charlie traveled along the silent street. Try as he might, Charlie could not prevent his teeth from chattering or his lips from turning slightly blue. The cold did not seem to hinder Wonka in the least, despite the incredible, toasty habitat in which he confined himself to for most of his life.

Willy said nothing, nor glanced his way. His cane wobbled with every step, perfectly shined, black boots treading stiffly upon the undisturbed layer of snow. But Charlie kept on glancing at him, expecting a flinch or a frown. Still, nothing happened.

"It's just on the other corner," the boy announced when they stopped to allow traffic through. "You don't have to come with me if you don't want, Mr. Wonka. I can buy it and bring it back out."

"Nonsense," the chocolatier quipped, tipping his head to look at Charlie for the first time since they set out. He squinted his eyes a little. "What kind of incredibly infamous chocolate genius do you take me for?"

Charlie smiled. "The good kind, I suppose."

"And would a good incredibly infamous chocolate genius let his best friend go and buy his own birthday candy all by himself?" Wonka wanted to know, leaning over on his cane.

"No," said Charlie.

"There you go then. Mystery solved." Willy straightened himself and started across the street. Charlie hurried after him, not wanting to be caught on the other side of the street when a warm, comfortable convenience store was within reach.

Charlie slipped past Mr. Wonka as the chocolatier opened the door. The bells hanging from the inside of the entrance jangled melodiously, which drew the immediate attention of the sole occupant of the store – the friendly clerk who had sold Charlie the winning chocolate bar and the golden ticket. Immediately, the man's face split into a welcoming grin.

"Charlie!" he greeted warmly as he leaned over the counter. "What a wonderful surprise! How's it going?"

"Fine, thanks," Charlie said a little breathlessly. He'd run across the intersection in a hurry to get warm.

"Who's your unusual friend?" the clerk wanted to know, referring of course, to M. Wonka, who was currently examining a package of Wonka's Peanut Fudge Crunch with profound interest.

"Oh, that's Willy Wonka," Charlie explained with a hint of pride and rubbed his hands together furiously to get the blood flowing in them again. He twisted his head around to get Willy's attention. "Mr. Wonka, I want you to meet Bernard. He sold me the winning ticket."

Wonka abruptly lost all interest in the packaged candy at the mention of the golden ticket and dropped the item back in the proper tray. Like a fervent admirer he glided over to the counter, his face aglow, and seized the clerk's hand in a furious handshake. "My dear sir, I cannot thank you enough for all you've done! To think Charlie might never have found that ticket if it weren't for you! Wow!"

Bernard's expression was a mixture of wonder and bewilderment as he released Wonka's hand. "So you're Willy Wonka," he said, grinning. "You're taller than I imagined."

"It's the hat," Charlie insisted.

"It is _not_," Willy shot back, glancing smartly at the boy.

"Is too," said Charlie.

"Is _not_!"

"All right, boys, take it easy," said Bernard, laughing.

"Sorry, sir," Charlie apologized, a little sheepishly. Quickly, he dug a few coins from his pocket and placed it on the counter in front of the Clerk. "We're here to buy a chocolate bar, actually."

"Oh," the gracefully understanding reply went. "Let me guess – one Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemellow Delight?"

With no lack of enthusiasm, Charlie nodded and added, "Please."

The clerk chuckled, chose burgundy-and-purple-wrapped candy bar from the wicker basket in front of his register, and handed it to the eager boy. "You know, I won't even ask why you're here when Willy Wonka himself is standing right next to you. I'll just assume you're about to tell me."

Charlie opened his mouth to explain _again_ the reason he was buying his birthday chocolate, but Mr. Wonka miraculously beat him to it first. "It's tradition," said the chocolatier, as if that clarified the whole situation. "Okay then, are we all set?"

Well aware of how uncomfortable Willy was inside of unfamiliar buildings, Charlie merely shrugged and tried to avoid Bernard's questioning eye. He thanked the clerk, who smiled back, and ducked under Wonka's outstretched arm in order to head back out the door. Willy paused a moment in that sweeping gesture, before following the boy outside.

"That was fun," he announced merrily, using his free hand to adjust his hat. "Where to next, Charlie?"

Surprised, the boy pocketed his chocolate bar and looked up at the towering, blanch-faced man. "What do you mean?"

"Well, what were you planning to do for the rest of your birthday, silly boy?" the chocolatier wanted to know. "Say, I have an idea," he went on with a mysterious smirk. "Let's go eat somewhere."

Smiling slightly, Charlie looked up at the man looming beside him. "Really? Like where?" he asked.

The way Willy's face froze completely suggested that he hadn't a clue. His eyes slowly moved to one side, his hand clenching the handle of his cane a little tighter than normal.

Charlie's grin broadened. "Why not Alison's Diner? It's not far from here."

"Good choice. We'll go there," said the chocolatier brightly, as if the suggestion had been his all along. Without any sense of direction at all, he set off down the street in a flourish of snow and purple velvet.

Charlie just tucked his numbing fingers into his pockets and waited.

Surely enough, it was not very long at all before Mr. Wonka walked straight back to the boy and stopped shortly, a stiff, elusive tinge to his face. "So…which way was it again?"

The boy merely shook his head started off across the street at a trot. Willy glared sharply after him before stalking to catch up. "I knew that," he quipped sourly to himself.

-----

They settled into a booth seat, in the curiously busy restaurant. Wonka hung his overcoat on the seat next to him, resting the cane just against the fabric, where he could keep an eye on them. Charlie could not help but notice how often Willy let his eyes wander to his surroundings, and he wondered just when the chocolatier had last eat out. Probably never.

It was surprisingly not long before a middle-aged woman with thick layers of makeup and an apron appeared beside their table with a notebook in hand. "Welcome to Alison's Family Eatery," she said flatly. "What will you two gentlemen like this morning?

"Just pancakes," said Charlie. "That's for me. I think Mr. Won…my friend might need a little more time to decide."

"No, no," Willy interrupted, grinning. "I love pancakes. They sound great."

Strangely enough, Charlie found himself wondering if this Willy Wonka was the same Wonka he'd met a year ago. It was hard _not_ to expect the odd chocolatier to say something completely out of the ordinary and quite possibly offensive as well.

The waitress blinked slowly, looking at Willy through half-dropped eyes. "Can I get you a coffee, sir?"

"Ew, no," Willy retorted before Charlie could intervene. "That horrible black stuff they get from car engines? You know, whoever invented it sure made a mistake rhyming it with toffee. They aren't alike at all."

"He'll have a hot chocolate," Charlie added hastily, wincing under the waitress's raised eyebrow. There was the Willy Wonka he'd been anticipating.

"Hey, that's a great idea!" Willy put his menu down, grinning. With the same enthusiasm as a young boy ordering his own food for the first time, he fidgeted and went on. "One hot chocolate, please, with extra chocolate. "

The waitress stared between the two of them with a blank expression, while the background noise rattled on. She wrote the order down on the notepad without blinking an eye. "Will that be all today, gentlemen?"

"Yes, thanks," said Charlie gratefully. Drearily, the waitress turned around and headed to another table, leaving the unusual duo to their own devices.

"Well, she wasn't very friendly, was she?" Willy observed, frowning.

Charlie shrugged. "Some people are just like that, I guess."

Willy sniffed. "I'll bet that's how grown-ups turn out when their parents don't let them have any candy."

That caused Charlie's grin to return, which clearly pleased Willy. "Maybe," said the boy.

Their conversation then led to the usual debate on chocolate inventions and candy designs. Charlie immediately brought up an idea he'd been chewing on for the past few days -- Caramel Balloons. Miniature, sticky balloons of rich caramel that popped in children's mouths. Willy was enthralled by it. By the time their drinks arrived, they had already devised three different possible names and the type of package that they would be shipped in.

Charlie took his milk and thanked the waitress politely. She all but ignored him, setting a steaming mug on the table in front of Mr. Wonka. The chocolatier delicately took it by the handle and waved dismissively with the other hand. Less than impressed, the waitress scowled at him and turned away in a huff.

At first, Charlie stared in bewilderment. Willy Wonka was certainly no less than blunt, but it was very unlike him to be flat-out rude. "Mr. Wonka," he whispered as he leaned forward. "You can't treat other people like you would Oompa Loompas, because they're not Oompa Loompas, they're real people."

Willy's fierce violet gaze snapped toward him from beneath the brim of his hat. "The Oompa Loompas are real people. They're from Loompala-"

"Yes, I know," Charlie went on quickly. "What I mean is, you're not exactly paying..._these_ people to work for you with cocoa beans."

For a moment, Wonka seemed to stare off into space as he registered this. His arm hovered above the table, his fingers still curled around his hot chocolate. "Oh," he said at last. Haltingly, he brought the mug to his lips and sipped. "Oh, yuck!"

Charlie remained silent as Wonka made a face of absolute revulsion, near on gagging with disapproval. The chocolatier removed a small packet from a pocket inside his jacked, ripped it open and added it to his beverage. Then, with he proceeded to stir the new concoction with his spoon. The discarded packet read 'Wonka's Fabulous Frothy Chocolate Powder'.

Charlie couldn't help it. He snorted into his milk and came up coughing and laughing at the same time. Willy froze in mid-stir to stare at him, unblinking. "Oh, sure, you find it funny now, but you wouldn't be if you'd tasted it," he said matter-of-factly. "It's terrible. It's even worse than coffee."

"Okay, I believe you," was all Charlie said. And he meant it, really.

"Hey, where should we go after this?" Wonka dropped his spoon, the hot chocolate completely forgotten.

This came as a surprise to Charlie. "I thought we were going home after, because Mom and Dad-"

"Oh, Charlie, it's your birthday! It's the single most important day of the year! We should be celebrating!"

"Even more important than Christmas?" Charlie wanted to know.

The light darkened somewhat behind Wonka's eyes. "Of course, you silly boy. It's much better than Ch-" His voice croaked. He tried to force the word out anyway. "Chr...c.."

Not at all unused to this behaviour, the boy waited out Willy's frustrated attempts to win over the name of the apparently repulsive holiday. The family sitting across the aisle from them, however, were staring at them. This, he ignored. One simply could not spend a day with Willy Wonka and not be stared at.

Feeling suddenly curious, he interrupted Wonka's stuttering by asking, "What's wrong with Christmas?"

Wonka looked a little sulky. "Because millions of little children every year get candy bars and candy canes, and the very next day they bring all those delicious goodies to school and make fun of all the other children who didn't get any."

Wonka might as well have told him his entire life story. And like many other times before, Charlie sympathized with the strange chocolatier. "You didn't get any chocolate at Christmas?"

"Shhh! Don't say it so loud!" Willy leaned forward so quickly in his seat, the table jolted and sent little splatters of hot chocolate everywhere. More heads turned to investigate the clamor.

"Don't feel bad," Charlie rebuked. "I never got any candy at Christmas, either. I only ate chocolate once a year, on my birthday. It's all my parents could afford."

"How can that be if you were one of the lucky little children who found one of my golden tickets?" Willy asked confidently, as if triumphing over some unseen battle.

Charlie shook his head and launched into the story about his last birthday and the first two failed attempts at finding the golden ticket. Willy listened without a single word, keeping his pale, sun-deprived face unreadable for the better part of the tale. When Charlie reached the part about finding the money note, his eyes widened.

"Wow, then you were an even luckier little boy than I first thought," he said with a funny lilt to his voice. Then his expression sunk, as if remembering something sad. Much more quietly, he added, "I had a Ch...a Chr...a winter holiday present once. A little toy flute made of wood. It had three holes on the top and I even learned how to play a song on it before I got my br…my b…those metal thingies on my teeth."

Charlie was hesitant to continue on the same subject, as it was obviously not a happy memory. "What...happened to it?"

Wonka jolted, startled from his momentary daze. Slowly, his eyes traveled from Charlie, to the surface of the dark chocolate that pooled in his mug. "I haven't the foggiest. One day I opened the box and it just wasn't there."

The boy looked into his glass. "I'm sorry."

"My dear boy, whatever for?" Wonka said loudly, to some extent with shock. "You certainly didn't steal my flute." Then as a serious afterthought, he added, "Did you?"

Charlie chuckled and shook his head fiercely. "Mr. Wonka, I wasn't born then."

"Of course you weren't," came the unexpectedly cheerful reply. Willy had resumed stirring his hot chocolate with an intensity that seemed unnatural. He bore a very broad grin. "That's what makes you so special, Charlie."

Charlie didn't quite know what to say to this, so he took another long sip of his milk and remained silent.

"Wow! It's Willy Wonka!"

Just like that, the childish, gleeful outcry had an impact on Willy that not even the worst insult to candy would have made. The chocolatier grabbed the edge of the table with his gloved hands and went completely still, a horrified scowl twitching on his lips. Then in a flash, he whirled out of his seat, collected his hat and cane, and began stalking towards the door and promising escape.

But the alarm had been raised, and the way to freedom was already barred with four happily grinning, syrup-streaked faces that happened to belong to four little children. Wonka inhaled sharply and stopped short, staring at the children as if they were pythons, and not preschoolers.

"Mr. Wonka, Mr. Wonka! Mr. Wonka!"

"Can I have some candy?"

"Is your hat really real? I want one just like it!"

"I saw him first! Mom!"

By this, Mr. Wonka was already backing away from the children, clearly unwilling to attempt to break through them lest he come in contact with one. His lips were pulled in a tight line, unaware that half of the restaurant was now staring at him, now regrettably aware of his identity.

Just then, Charlie stepped out from behind the frozen chocolatier and placed himself between the overexcited children and Wonka himself. His Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemellow Delight was no longer in his pocket, but his hand. He reached out and placed the chocolate bar in the sticky hands of the oldest youngster. "Here," he said calmly. "You can share it."

And like a pack of rabid hyenas, the children laughed and squealed at their unjustified present. Immediately, they began to fight amongst themselves over the chocolate and forgot all about Mr. Wonka, who was now looking at Charlie as if he were a ghost.

"Hurry, let's go before anyone else tries to stop you," Charlie directed hastily. Wonka melted a little, enough to lift the corners of his mouth in an uneasy smile, but that quickly faded. He edged himself around the children instead, fleeing out the door and into the snow.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka," said Charlie, once they were both safely a few lampposts aware from the diner. "I should have remembered."

Willy tapped his cane on the sidewalk adamantly. "Poppycock!" he scolded with a tugging frown. "It's not your fault, Charlie. I feel horrible that you just…gave away your birthday chocolate for…for me."

Feeling slightly embarrassed, the boy averted his eyes and shook his head. "Don't worry about that," he said softly. "It's just a silly tradition."

"It is _not_!" argued the chocolatier, not for the first time that day. "Look at me, I _invented_ silly and that, my dear boy, isn't silly at all!"

"But I always share my chocolate on my birthday. Besides, you're right, there's plenty more of it at the factory," the boy explained. He shivered reluctantly as the frigid air swept over him. "We should probably go home now. Mom and Dad are going to worry about us."

Now, Mr. Wonka knew for a fact that Charlie wanted anything else than to return to the factory. After all, it wasn't every day he left, now that he was so busy learning about the functions of the rooms, the Oompa Loompa language, secret ingredients of different candies and the basics of becoming a chocolatier.

"Okay," Willy said grudgingly. "But only because it's so darn cold out here! Maybe now the Oompa Loompas can give you their surprise!"

Charlie brightened at the idea. He'd forgotten about the 'surprise' discussion this morning. Suddenly, he didn't feel as bad to have lost his traditional chocolate bar.

"Sure," he said. "I call pushing the button."

Willy half-gaped as Charlie suddenly raced past him, towards the glass elevator that was waiting on the corner of the block. The chocolatier walked briskly after him. "Hey, you always call pushing the button!"

A breeze stirred the snow in a fantastic, white tumult that adorned the sides of the streets and blew across the sidewalk. Charlie's voice carried through the wind lightly. "I need the practice!"

And besides the setbacks, he decided that this birthday was so far, one of his best ever.

* * *

_Sneak Peek: _A mysterious disappearance, an unexpected reappearance and the fright of Charlie's life. 


	3. Fears Realized

_Strange Candy_

**Summary: **On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

**Notes:** That's it. I figured it out. The setting of Charlie and the Chocolate factory is undetermined…supposedly UK but with some 'Americanization' or whatnot. Therefore, I have no irk with continuing this story as I originally planned. I will try to do my best at combining both UK and American traits. This will be hard, as I am Canadian. Stupid nationalities.

Ah, I see I have failed to mention about my 'OC'. Right. Her. Please do not be alarmed. This is not a Mary Sue. I think I'm incapable of writing a Mary Sue. As I have mentioned before, I write because Mr. Wonka inspires me, not because 25 of the teenage female population has pictures of smiling Johnny Depps on their walls. Hehe. Enough said.

By the way, if anyone can find the little quote I 'borrowed' from a well-loved TV show in this chapter, I'll give them 10,000 Wonka bars. Hint, it's something Wonka says. Hehe.

**Notice:** This is a _very_ long chapter (6,000 words!). I wasn't expecting it to be this long, but…well, enjoy anyway.

**Disclaimer: **Consult previous chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Three: Fears Realized_

After his parents and all four grandparents had celebrated his birthday around the table, brought out a fabulous chocolate cake adorned with the creamiest fudge and said their well wishes, Charlie found himself staring absently at his sole birthday present. It was a handheld video game device. His parents had bought it for him with one game, as it was all they could manage with Mr. Bucket's new salary.

On the surface, Charlie was thrilled, turning the device on and fiddling around with the controls for a while. But there lay a certain, empty void in his chest that reminded him how abruptly Mr. Wonka had disappeared after delivering him home.

"I'm sure he'll be back before suppertime, son," Mr. Bucket had assured him. But Wonka had not returned, and now the sky was turning dark. Just as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Charlie's heart sunk with it.

Grimly, he set the video game on top of the television and turned to his mother. "I'm a bit tired. I'm going to sleep, if that's all right."

Mrs. Bucket said nothing, but bent over to kiss him on the forehead and wished him a happy birthday one final time. He smiled his goodnight and slowly turned to the ladder that led to the second floor.

As he stepped onto the dusty floor of his room, he looked around. He still couldn't figure out why Mr. Wonka had simply...disappeared for no apparent reason. Maybe he'd forgotten about the surprise? That notion, of course, immediately made him feel guilty. The chocolatier was under no obligation to get him anything for his birthday, but...

Charlie decided it was best to ask Mr. Wonka tomorrow. He kicked off his shoes and crawled into his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Slowly, he drew in a long breath and felt himself relax as the sweet smell of candy and melted chocolate flooded his senses. He let the smells carry him off into a drowsy, near-unconscious state of sleepless peace…

Until a blinding light filled his room.

Charlie shot up in alarm and scrambled back against the flimsy headboard of his bed. Wildly, he threw one arm up to shield his eyes from the brightness that shone through the gap in the roof. If he had not already recognized the familiar hum of the elevator, he would have begun to panic.

"Charlie!"

That was another sound he recognized -- Mr. Wonka's voice. Charlie crawled to the edge of his bed and stood on the floor, poking his head and shoulders through the open crack. "Mr. Wonka, is that you? I can't see you!"

He received no response. Instead, the light went away, revealing the most unlikely sight.

The glass elevator hovered just outside of his bedroom, with none other than Willy Wonka himself inside. The chocolatier leaned out of the glass elevator door, an arm stretched out towards him. "Grab on! We can't waste another second!"

"Another second for what?" Charlie yelled over the whirring of the elevator's propelling engines.

"No time for questions, Charlie!" Wonka replied with a wide, impish grin. "If we don't hurry, we just might miss it!"

Resisting the urge to ask "Miss what?" and risk the irritation of Mr. Wonka, Charlie glanced behind him. Surely his parents had heard the commotion and would come to investigate! Only the deaf and the _extremely_ hard of hearing wouldn't be able to hear this.

Yet no one came. Maybe they knew all about it? That had to be it. Otherwise, there would be all sorts of confusion involved.

Still, the idea of jumping off the second floor of his house unto a floating glass elevator in the near pitch-blackness wasn't exactly comfortable. Uneasily, he wormed himself through the gap in his roof and clutched the rotting wood for sweet safety.

"Are you sure it's safe?" he called to Mr. Wonka, who appeared to be growing fidgety with impatience.

"Why, of course it's safe! I, Willy Wonka, guarantee that!" Willy gestured with his outstretched hand to indicate the boy to hurry. His eyes were practically glittering with gleeful eagerness. Although Charlie was still doubtful, he didn't want Mr. Wonka to think he wasn't trusting of him. Slowly, he breathed in and held his breath, before grabbing the chocolatier's hand and taking a small jump forward.

He felt himself being half-pulled, half-lifted towards the open door of the flying elevator. With more strength than he seemed to have, Wonka ensured that Charlie landed safely on the edge of the floor. He then moved aside so the boy could have some space to breathe.

Charlie leaned against the glass wall as the elevator continued to hover, undisturbed. He glanced up at the smug-looking chocolatier, who seemed to be avoiding his gaze. "Couldn't you have used the front door…?"

"My dear boy, the front door is for amateurs," Wonka quipped, tilting his head. "Besides, isn't this so much more exciting?"

"If you say so," said Charlie, still slightly short of breath. "I…I thought you weren't going to come."

Wonka's joyful expression fell a little, then froze. And for a moment, just a moment, Charlie felt a little light-headed and strange. In that moment, he couldn't be sure whether or not Mr. Wonka was really there, or if…no, that was entirely ridiculous. Of course he was there, but…

Movement in the corner of his eye shook him out of his split-second daze. Willy wasn't grinning anymore, but he had a slight, mystifying smile. "Well, good incredibly famous chocolate geniuses don't forget their best friend's birthday surprises, so there."

Charlie was now the one grinning like an idiot. "Sorry, I forgot."

"Quite alright, my boy, quite alright. Now-" Mr. Wonka turned abruptly to face the panel of numerous buttons. "Which one was it again…? Oh, yeah."

And hardly that last syllable been spoken than the glass doors slid shut and the elevator jolted into sudden action. Charlie was full well prepared for this kind of movement and managed to keep his feet firmly planted as their transparent transportation sped off towards the ceiling of the green room, where Charlie expected some sort of tunnel or exit would take them outside. Or perhaps another part of the factory? There was no way of telling.

Then, as if he were caught inside some gigantic television set, the world around him flickered away and he was brought to an unfamiliar place. It was dark, and there were shadows everywhere. They moved and giggled hysterically, reminding him for a horrifying moment of the manic laughter of the Oompa Loompas. His breath caught in his throat as he quickly began to back away—

—and bumped into a glass wall. Quickly, he sped around to face his own, slightly see-through reflection. He touched it gently with his fingertips and turned at the same time…

Only to face an empty elevator. Wonka was nowhere in sight. Feeling suddenly sick at heart, Charlie swallowed. "H-Hello? M-Mr. Wonka?"

It would have seemed rather silly to venture his name, had the elevator still been in the air. But it was not flying any longer, nor did it seem to be in operation. Charlie glanced around and nearly lost his balance in shock as his eyes perceived the state of the glass walls. Cracks spread everywhere, like tiny white spiders, cobwebs hung from corners and dust coated much of the surface. No wonder his reflection had been roughly dimmer than usual.

Trembling to some small degree, the boy inched towards the open door to the elevator. He stepped out onto the ground, which felt moist and a little spongy under his feet. It was too dark to see much, besides the faint outlines of vaguely familiar objects. Their silhouettes had such a likeness to something in his memory that he could not quite place immediately. They were almost like…

Charlie gasped and almost jumped with horror and revulsion. It was candy! He was in the Chocolate Room, but the fields of lush, delicious grass was dead and rotting away below him. The great, swirled trees had been cracked and broken, each bush, pumpkin, or anything related to the room had been smashed or cut down. The remains rotted on the ground, like the grass. Charlie spun around, shocked that his surroundings were suddenly becoming so clear. It was a nightmare.

It was then a faint glow caught his eye. Refusing to give into panic, Charlie slowly turned around to face the source of the light. The first thing he noticed was the deep, dry riverbed where the chocolate had once been. It was all dry stone, without even the barest hint of a chocolate stain. And then he looked up.

What he saw was a great, tall cliff he had never seen before, especially not from inside the Chocolate room. It stretched up, towering, so high that Charlie had to crane his neck to see the top. It had to be five stories in height, if not more.

At the very top of this precisely vertical cliff stood Mr. Willy Wonka.

Charlie's heart surged for the shortest moment of his life. For in the same moment, he dared to recognize the odd-shaped shadows moving directly behind the motionless chocolatier – shapeless, shifting shadows with no end and no beginning.

Mr. Wonka was standing with his hands on top of his cane, looking out over the expanse of the room with a wistful smile, as if the room were perfectly glorious, not in sickening shambles.

And then Charlie felt a cold clenching feeling in his chest as he realized that these shadows behind him were moving faster. The horrendous giggling returned, like echoes of pure malice. He realized, too late, what was going to happen.

"Mr. Wonka! Look out!" he screamed, right before the shadows leapt.

Their shapeless form dove onto Wonka's back and the startled chocolatier cried out in surprise. In one maliciously long second, he seemed to fall forward very slowly, as if gravity itself denied that such an event was going to take place.

Then Mr. Wonka lost his balance entirely. The moment he toppled, with horrific grace, the shadows lifted and dispersed, still giggling hysterically.

And Wonka fell, plummeting for the ground below. There was no sound.

Charlie watched, face stricken with horror and grief as the chocolatier plunged.

Falling, to the empty riverbed below.

Falling…

Charlie shot up in bed, his heart pounding in his chest.

The room around him seemed to spin in his mind. He sat frozen, while attempting to make sense of his surroundings. Only half-realizing where he was, he struggled until he was sitting with his legs over the edge of his bed and clutched his head in his hands.

The image of Mr. Wonka plummeting through the air, like a lifeless doll, was printed in front of his eyes. And the horrible wave of helplessness that had washed over him was still there, because he _knew_ and did _not_ know what those manic shadows represented.

It was a dream. It was just a dream.

But it had been so _real_.

Charlie leapt to his feet and scrambled over to the opening in the roof. His heart lurched when he looked at the room outside.

Lush. Green. Perfect. Chocolate flowed thickly along its way, undisturbed by nasty, dark shadows and not dry in the least. Everything seemed to positively shine under the light that signified morning. Nothing had changed at all, except…

But Charlie had not fallen asleep. How could something so incredibly realistic and terrifying be a dream, even a nightmare? Nightmares faded away once you woke up. He could still remember every intrinsic detail, every swift pitch of dread and grief and the feel of the dusty glass on his fingertips, cold and grainy.

Somehow, he turned himself around and flew down the ladder to the kitchen. His mother was already awake, standing in her usual morning spot beside the stove. Mr. Bucket spotted him first and began to rise from his seat, but Charlie was already off like a shot. He scarcely heard the surprised exclamations of his family as he burst out the door and ran out into the meadows of the Chocolate Room.

He reached the top of the narrow bridge and analyzed the rolling slopes of candy. There was no escaping that sickening sense of doubt that swelled uncomfortably in his chest.

Yet what he saw was Mr. Wonka, standing carelessly at the peak of a nearby cliff, which hung over the boiling river of chocolate. The chocolatier was smiling wistfully as he surveyed his incredibly handsome field of creations.

"Mr. Wonka!" Charlie charged down the slope, nearly sliding across the grass in his enthusiasm.

Willy turned around, his face lighting up characteristically. "Hey, Charlie! You ready to be surp-"

Those words were unexpectedly cut off when ninety pounds of insanely happy boy crashed into him. Mr. Wonka threw his weight onto his cane instinctively and managed to avoid being thrown of the cliff under Charlie's momentum. When he did come around to realizing what had happened, Charlie was clinging to him like…well, candy.

"-prised…?" finished Wonka.

A few moments passed and nothing happened. Wonka cleared his throat uncomfortably and placed a gloved hand on Charlie's shoulder – just barely.

Willy Wonka was not normally a person who tolerated human contact. That was not an extraordinary fact; it was rather well known. This was the same Mr. Wonka who'd frozen like a wet log during winter when certain little Violet Beuregarde had attacked him during the tour in her maliciously sweet way. But Charlie was no Violet. Charlie was Charlie.

Mr. Wonka could tell that the boy had been upset about something. The bottom line was that, awkward or no, prying him away would probably make the poor kid feel worse. And that just wouldn't do at all especially since there was a perfectly good birthday present waiting for him to open, and he didn't want to ruin it by making Charlie feel sad.

It was then Charlie remembered whom he was hugging and abruptly let go. He stepped back and lowered his arms to his sides hesitantly "I'm sorry. I thought you were…I mean, you had…because I _saw_ it, it had to be real, Mr. Wonka, you fell and I-" His throat suddenly became very dry. Babbling on like he was, who wouldn't feel extremely foolish? "I mean, I'm sorry. I thought you had…"

"Forgot your big surprise?" Wonka offered with a helpful smile.

"No," said Charlie, taking a deep breath. "I wouldn't think that, ever. I just…had a bad dream, that's all. I'm glad you're all right."

"Are you sure you couldn't use a piece of chocolate to make you feel better?" the chocolatier wanted to know, leaning over his cane in a familiar way. "It's delicious," he prompted.

"Thanks," Charlie said, shaking his head. "I try to save eating chocolate until later in the day."

Wonka made a 'phhhst' noise that sounded an awful lot like a cross old man refusing a bit of sour wine. "There's never a wrong time to eat chocolate, _especially_ after having a nightmare. It's oh-so-good chocolatey sweetness chases all the bad dream demons away. Didn't you know that?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Well, let that be your lesson today, Charlie. Chocolate is good," said Willy ever more cheerfully. "And on that note, so are birthday surprises. So, what do you say? Ready to be surprised?"

"But I can't yet," said Charlie, his eyes darting a little anxiously towards his house. "I've still got my morning chores to do, and there's breakfast-"

"All of which can be done later, right? It won't take long. Promise." Wonka beamed.

"But I would feel bad for not doing it when it's not even my birthday," Charlie explained. "Wouldn't that be weaseling out of work?"

"My dear boy, weaseling out of things is good!' Wonka said brightly. By now, the duo were casually strolling side-by-side along the bank of the chocolate river. "Weaseling is what separates us from all the other animals," the chocolatier explained. His face fell for a moment as he thought. "Except maybe the weasel."

Charlie laughed. It felt good to at last forget the terrible images of his dream. How could he possibly be worried about Mr. Wonka when it was impossible to stop being amused by him? He knew for a fact that Wonka was doing it on purpose – after all, it was in his nature to brighten Charlie's mood whenever he seemed down in the dumps. It was a very welcome feeling.

Mr. Wonka stopped just in front of the glass elevator door and raised a finger to press the 'open' button when he felt something tug at his pant-leg. An Oompa Loompa, bothering him an important time like this? He frowned a little as he crouched down to listen to the little man's notification. Then he gasped.

"Okay, then, but don't let her in or do anything at all until I get there!" he informed the Oompa Loompa, standing up again. He tried to avoid Charlie's confused stare. "Got it?"

The Oompa crossed his arms over his chest and bowed, before hurrying off to carry out his orders.

"What's wrong?" Charlie asked.

Willy spun around briskly to face the boy, looking none too pleased to have his plans thwarted _again_ by some unexpected setback. He made a bitter expression. "It seems there's an unwelcome visitor trying to get into the factory. The Oompa Loompa says she wants to speak to me. Go figure!"

Charlie could not help but sigh. "You need to take care of this, don't you?"

Wonka squirmed. "Well, yeah, but-"

"Go," said Charlie. "It's all right. You can show me the surprise when it's all over."

Still, the chocolatier looked hesitant to go anywhere. After what was apparently a strenuous mental battle over what was right and wrong, Willy lowered his eyes, turned about and began to walk briskly towards the small door at the opposite end of the room – the door that would lead to the main hallway.

Charlie found a comfortable candy pumpkin to sit on and waited.

* * *

April Miranda Banks hated international assignments as much as she hated the cold, ice and slush. Most of the representatives from the Scotland Yard were giving her a hard time with her temporary relocation. And her toes were frozen. From standing outside this bloody gate for so long.

She was as intelligent as she was impatient, which unfortunately were not two traits that combined happily. On many occasions, such as this one, she had found herself muttering, "Federal Bureau of Investigation, my ass," in spite of the terrible attitude she received from the majority of the English population.

_If these people fully intend to lock a certified agent of Bureau out in the cold, they have another thing coming, _her thoughts boiled. The bars of the thick, iron gates were just inches from her nose. After fruitless attempts to draw attention from inside of the factory, she had given up and began to formulate an alternate plan.

_So much for TV dramatics_, she continued to think sadistically. _If this were television, and this door were made of cheap, film set Styrofoam, I could just kick it down and charge in, gun blazing._

But, no matter how she wished her life were as eventful, this was not a crime-solving drama. She was just a normal FBI representative assigned to tossed-aside, yellow butter file that sane people tended to avoid.

Then again, she was also April Banks, skilled abuser of unnatural double-joints and steeled determination. She would bring this chocolate bastard out of this factory by his hair if she had to, there was _no_ way she was leaving without having her questions answered. Personally.

_Then again, I'm the one who's probably crazy_, came another thought. She was not here to befriend the owner of this factory. In her mind, she was ready to cuff him and take him straight to headquarters for questioning. She had seen the faces of those children, their symptoms…and she knew that if this 'chocolatier' was responsible, she would grow old happier knowing he was locked away.

Which is where her double-jointed-ness came into play.

The bars of the gate were to closely spaces for any normal-sized woman to squeeze through, but April was by no means normally sized. For twenty-nine, she was very small in stature and lacked the appropriate height for her age. Besides that, she had another trick up her sleeve. Far, far up her sleeve. Smirking diligently, she gripped one of the bars in her right hand and maneuvered her body until she heard, or rather _felt_, her shoulder pop slightly out of place. With an almost gruesome sense of snaky elegance, she wormed her way through the two bars and toppled into the slush on the other side.

She had been half-expecting an alarm to sound, or pack of security hounds to come racing after her. To her pleased, yet bittersweet surprise, nothing happened at all. The factory remained standing. The sun continued to shine. No men in uniforms with tazers.

Feeling a slight bruise forming on her already malnourished ego, April picked herself up out of the wet, cold muck and brushed majority off her suit. _Great, another trip to the drycleaners. Hooray._

With the stiff posture of a woman twice her age, she began to walk briskly towards the large doors situated on the front of the building. So far, she had no idea how she was going to get inside if 'they' continued to ignore her. Maybe she could call in backup.

_Yeah, that's right. Help me, I can't even _find_ the suspect!_ she mocked furiously and silently. Then she stopped short of the door by several feet and looked up. "Excuse me!" she yelled in vain. "My name is April Banks! I'm an agent of the law and I need to speak to Mr. Willy Wonka!"

_Right, a little CSI meets Dr. Suess, anyone?_

Imagine, to her utter bewilderment (although she did her best to hide it) when the door in front of her lurched to life. She stood motionlessly, staring at the great metal doors parted to reveal a dark, yet oddly cluttered room.

A 'room' wasn't exactly what April would have called it. She took a tentative step forward, trying to discern shadow from solid. It was cloudy outside, making it too dark to see the detail in the numerous objects and structures that surrounded her. Then, suddenly, her eyes adjusted.

They were dolls! Many of them, lifeless, wide-eyed, wooden and plastic dolls with fake grins and painted ears. The shapeless structures were really decorative contraptions in which the mechanical dolls were fixated to. Clearly they were intended to move, or do…_something_, but as of the moment, their faces were frozen in sheer, listless stupor.

_CSI meets Dr. Suess at Chucky's House of Horrors_, she corrected mentally, advancing a little warily through the forest of strange things. She could only be so grateful for _not_ wearing heels today. Then again, who in their right mind would wear dress shoes in this kind of weather? And to a monstrous chocolate factory a hundred times bigger than FBI headquarters?

She passed the last display with these thoughts tagging her and stepped onto a finely crafted marble floor. Ahead of her stretched a long, red carpet that led to a deceitfully long hallway. Here she stopped, doubtful that the room ahead of her was as empty as it was large. She was not trained at the Bureau for nothing. In a flash, she spun around to face the entrance to the factory.

A man stood there, tall and rigidly, as if he had been standing there all along. April was both irritated and unsurprised by his attire. He wore a burgundy, off-purplish coattail and tux crossbreed, a twelve-inch top hat and an enigmatic grin. Both of his purple-tinged hands were atop a slender cane, which he held in front of him.

_Sure, why not toss in a little Batman Meets the Riddler?_ April found herself growing more irritated by the moment, especially when this strange man did not move, or speak. At this distance, she couldn't be positive, but…were his eyes purple, _too_? Why would anyone sane buy purple contacts? To match his outfit?

"Are you Mr. Willy Wonka?" she voiced, too tired and angry to hide the annoyance in her tone.

"Uh huh," said the man, very childishly, and without even twitching his lips in the effort to do so.

_This_ was the fiendish little bastard she was looking for. Her job just became much easier; she had to stop herself from making the arrest right there and then. There was hardly enough proof to make any arrests legitimate right now. But she _knew_ he was responsible. He had to be.

April reached inside of her rather damp jacket and withdrew her license and badge, remaining flat-faced as his eyes flickered over it. "My name is April Banks. I'm an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, an representative of the American embassy for foreign criminals and international crime."

Mr. Wonka's eyes snapped from the license in her hand to her face. But he said nothing.

Fine. She would play his game. "I'm here to ask you a few questions regarding the chocolate made here in your factory."

It was almost as if she had pushed a button labeled 'Energetic Outburst', for his entire face lit up at the mention of the word 'chocolate'.

"Wow! Boy, am I ever relieved to hear that!" he chimed, coming to life as though he were one of the motionless dolls. "I was worried you were one of those mean, awful, rude people who wants to take Charlie away. Or a lawyer. Last time we had one of them, we had to decontaminate the whole chocolate river! It was just…messy!"

April had no idea who 'Charlie' was or _why _this 'chocolate river' had to be decontaminated because of some lawyer, but those were not questions she was eager to have answered. She crossed her arms.

"Well, Mr. Wonka, I'm afraid you're going to _need_ a lawyer before this matter is settled," she said frigidly. "Unless you're willing to confess the crime that I'm just about ready to arrest you for."

His smile disappeared. His arm froze in the air, mid-gesture before it ever so slowly lowered to rest on his cane again. "I see," he said quietly. "And why is that?"

"Because, Mr. Wonka, there are two _very_ sick children in the state of Michigan who were poisoned by _your _chocolate," said April seething, advancing towards him with clenched hands. "If you aren't the one who's responsible, I will eat my left shoe."

The pale-faced man wrinkled his nose at this. "Ew, why would you do that? Shoes don't taste very nice at all."

"I wouldn't play cute if I were you," she snapped, moving even closer. Her face was livid now. "I intend to bring you and your factory _down_, Mr. Wonka. Even if I have to remove _every _single Wonka bar from shelves across the world, I don't intend on letting any more children suffer from your workers' negligence."

Mr. Wonka changed expressions at least twice before opening his mouth to speak. Then he closed it. Then opened it again. "I'll have you know, the Oompa Loompas never make mistakes. I should know. I taught them myself," he sniffed.

"I have evidence that _proves_ otherwise," she hissed and continued to approach him.

By now the chocolatier had exceeded his forbearance of her nearness. He inched backwards, closing the space between him and the wall. Cornered, to be put bluntly, by a strange woman who _clearly_ didn't like chocolate.

She might have had her chance to wave her evidence in his face had Mr. Wonka not very accidentally bumped into a bright red switch on the opposite wall. The lever clicked, and the sound of whirring gears sprung to life.

As did the dolls. Suddenly, the room around them was filled with a bubbly, energetic tune and the lifeless display jumped to life.

_"Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, the amazing chocolatier…"_

Dolls began to spin, lights began to flash and a chorus of elf-like voices sang out from seemingly nowhere at all. Mr. Wonka jolted slightly and whirled around to discern the cause of the ruckus. He forced a reassuring grin, and tried to turn the contraption off via the red switch. Nothing happened.

_"Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, everybody give a cheer…"_

A little vexed, Willy tried flipping the lever several times. The dolls continued to sing. Annoying, perky, dolls. Convinced that the display was indeed, broken, Mr. Wonka slowly turned around to face the wide-eyed lady who had so uncouthly invaded his home and factory, still bearing that same, fake grin he bore in such cases.

_"He's modest, clever and so smart, he barely can restrain it.  
__With so much generosity, there was no way to contain it  
__To contain it, to contain…to contain…to contain…"_

By the end of this verse, April was glaring at the offending display. When she snapped her attention back to the 'chocolatier', her eyes were ablaze with sheer disdain. The corners of his mouth dropped instantly. Then he turned and fled into the multitude of moving, singing, robotic little people, one hand clutching his cane tightly and the other steadying his hat as he made his clever getaway.

"Hey!" April lunged after him, knowing she couldn't let this chocolate creep go without answering her questions. For a moment, she forgot the singing, merry little tune _and _dolls and chased after him into the midst of it all.

Mr. Wonka had vanished.

She was surrounded by singing, cheering dolls and bouncy jingles, and now Mr. Willy Wonka had found away to elude her. April grimaced, ducking just in time before a doll went swooping past her head. She made a split-second decision and began to cross the little 'stage' towards the middle.

_"Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, he's the one that you're about to meet.  
__Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, he's the genius who just can't be beat…"_

She nearly tripped over the trap door as – of all things – a relatively small 'throne' rose out from the floor. April backed away from it, peering around and over top of the displays in an attempt to find the chocolatier hiding behind them.

She did not know that Mr. Wonka was watching her, from inside the factory. If she had looked, she might have seen his faded silhouette in the shadows off in one corner of the room, but it was difficult to see through anything from where she was. An odd feeling unsettled him, as if there was something he ought to tell her…but he couldn't quite remember what it was.

_"The magician and the chocolate whiz, the best darn guy who ever lived…"_

Oh, fizzbuttons. _Now_ he remembered.

_"Willy Wonka, here he is!"_

"Miss, look out!"

It was not Mr. Wonka who cried out, however. Much to the chocolatier's surprise (and momentary horror) it was none other than Charlie who dashed out of nowhere to seize the grouchy lady's arm and pulled her away from the chair and the display as quickly as she would allow him. Roughly about the same time, the 'special effects' erupted in all directions, sending sparks and bits of flame flying everywhere. The spot Mr. Banks had been standing just was now ablaze, as were many of the unfortunate dolls. The music, obviously, had stopped.

Charlie and April Banks half-stumbled onto the snowy steps in front of the ruined display. Against her better judgment, April couldn't seem to close her mouth, finding the entire situation and how close she'd come to singeing her hair off too much to take in at once. With a positively stunned face, she turned her head to look at the young boy who had 'saved' her.

"Are you all right?" he wanted to know.

"I…" She looked at the display, then at the boy once more. "I…suppose," she said, relaxing slightly. Then she realized that she was still clutching his wrist with such pressure it was a wonder he didn't have tears in his eyes. Quickly, she let him go. "What…what _was_ that?" she said disbelievingly.

"Willy's Welcome Song," said the boy with a clearly apologetic wince. "You'll have to forgive Mr. Wonka. I don't think he wanted you to get caught in the grand finale."

April wasn't sure if she'd heard correctly. "It was _supposed_ to do that?" Once more she glanced over to the remainder of the display, which was little more than a few smothered flames and a lot of melted plastic. And some very, very sad-looking doll corpses.

The boy shrugged. This was a little more than she could bear. She sighed.

"I'm sure Mr. Wonka wasn't intending that at all," she said with perhaps too much sarcasm. "I'm sure you don't know where I could find him. Do you live around here?"

Somewhat mysteriously, the boy's smile returned. He tucked his hands into his pocket and turned to look at the factory.

"You _live_…in the _factory_?" she nearly gasped.

"My whole family lives here," he said, as if the idea were much more normal than it was in actuality. "Mr. Wonka is teaching me all about the factory. I guess you could call me his heir."

April looked at him more closely. "Are you Charlie?"

Again, the boy nodded. The manner in which he did so was so sweet, she found herself wondering how such a child could possibly be in the employ (or rather, favor) of such an outrageous character as Mr. Willy Wonka.

April would have ventured another question, had she not happened to glance in the direction of the iron gates. When she saw the truck, and the two men standing outside her car, a very helpless feeling washed over. "Oh, shit!" she swore angrily, remembering only too late about her audience. She covered her mouth with her hand. "Sorry," she added. "I can't _believe_…they're towing my car, those stupid, English…mongrels!" She exclaimed the last word, using it as an impulsive substitute for a much more profane word she would _like_ to have used.

Charlie squinted at her, as if the light of the sky bothered his eyes. "Are you going to stop them?"

"Well, I'm certainly not _walking_ home," she growled. For a moment, she paused, uncertain of what to do. Finally, she produced a folded piece of paper from her pocket and offered it to the boy. "Listen, will you do me a favor and give this to Mr. Wonka? It's extremely important."

The boy took the paper and looked at it strangely. It was not really paper at all, in fact, but a piece of foil. "Is this-"

"From a Wonka bar, yes, but don't look at it until you've given it to Mr. Wonka. I have to go save my car." April flashed a brief smile – it was a rarity to her and the stretching felt off on her lips – and turned to rescue her car. She paused. "It was nice meeting you, Charlie. I hope to be seeing you again in the near future."

"Sure," said Charlie, tucking the piece of foil into his pocket. "Goodbye."

But April was already half-running, half sliding across the frozen courtyard of the factory towards the tow truck and her threatened vehicle. Charlie was not at all surprised to see the gates swing open slightly to allow her to leave, before slamming shut again.

He watched the strange woman argue with the two men for a few minutes before the cold became too much. With a last, curious glance towards the gates, he made his way back into the factory to deliver the message that would change their lives forever.

* * *

_Sneak Peek: _A secret revealed, a heated debate and a problem for Mrs. Bucket. 


	4. Charlie's Birthday Surprise

_Strange Candy_

**Summary: **On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

**Notes: **Let's see…-rifles through pockets- I've only got….three Wonka bars on me right now. Willy Wonka's Sweet Sugar Babe gets them all for guessing correctly – it was indeed Homer Simpson who first made the weasel comment. And, uh…a cookie for PucktoFaerie for trying. My gratitude for participating in my insane, psychotic mini-games. And a…um, jellybean for Lady of the Light, for leaving such a long review. Yay long reviews. It's a pink jellybean. Hope you like pink.

I should probably mention something about the genres…this story is mainly about the Charlie/Wonka bonding/friendship angst thingy. I won't be focusing heavily upon the process of falling in love, or sweet, romantic fluff. I can't fluff up this fic without running the risk of ruining it. So I apologize in advance to those Willy Wonka lovesick readers out there.

Also, I would like to add that, for the most part, I am trying to retain most of the movie's energy by adding familiar things. You'll see what I mean later on. Or not. Some of you might hate me for it, or I dunno…

Bad Yachi. Stop thinking aloud in your notes section.

**Disclaimer: **Consult previous chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Four: Charlie's Birthday Surprise_

Charlie was halfway back to the Chocolate Room when he remembered that he was supposed to wait for Mr. Wonka.

The realization hit him like a sledgehammer. What if Mr. Wonka had gone all the way back to the glass elevator, only to find that Charlie had disappeared? Unfortunately, Charlie didn't have to think hard about that. No doubt the chocolatier would be crushed, perhaps even think that he didn't care about the belated surprise…

Which was most certainly not true. Charlie would give anything to suddenly grow a pair of wings and fly as fast as he could to the Chocolate Room. However, Mr. Wonka had not yet invented a candy for such a miracle, so there was no choice but to run.

Run he did, forgetting all about the piece of wrapper foil in his pocket. He _had _to catch up with Wonka before he reached the glass elevator!

He reached the end of the hall and crouched through the small door, stepping out onto the springy, eatable grass. A pair of Oompa Loompas passed by, thick, swirled branches of candy slung over their shoulders. They paused to bow a greeting to him, looking mildly startled when the boy rushed past them and up the grassy knoll.

Charlie's heart sunk to his stomach when he saw the empty hillside where the elevator had been. Mr. Wonka was nowhere in sight. It was too late.

_Wait a second_, the thought occurred to him. _He's probably in the Inventing Room. I can get there by boat!_

This was all he needed to set across the meadow again, dodging candy bushes and leaping over the odd pumpkin in his hurry to reach the chocolate river. He boarded the bright pink boat without bothering to slow down, causing it to rock back and forth dangerously. The movement threw him off his feet and he landed painfully on one of the benches, bruising his tailbone. Grimacing, he sat up and waved at the Oompa Loompas.

"I have to get to the Inventing Room as quickly as possible!" he said earnestly. As if picking up on his enthusiasm, the small team of rowers -- smaller than before, as only a dozen or so were required to transport such light cargo -- chuckled and began to work their oars. "Thank you," Charlie breathed gratefully.

Truthfully, he had only ridden the boat twice after the factory-wide tour. Both times he'd ended up feeling as if he'd been turned inside out, flipped upside down and knocked over the head several times. He was not particularly looking _forward_ to this boat ride, but what else could he do? He couldn't let Wonka believe he didn't _care_. Not after all he'd done for Charlie.

Sure enough, when the boat toppled over its first rapids, his stomach did a flip and he clutched at it, trying to retain what was left of his birthday cake from the night before. Before the ride was through, his legs had turned to jelly. When the boat stopped and he stood up, he lost his balance.

Much to his fortune, the Oompa Loompas had taken a much more affectionate liking to him than they had for Mr. Wonka himself. Perhaps it was their partiality for children, or maybe they what they lacked in size they made up in heart. Charlie was delighted that they accepted him. Just as he was about to topple over the edge of the boat, four pairs of small hands reached up to balance him again.

"Thanks," Charlie said to their not-quite-smiling-but-friendly-enough faces. "Again. I don't think I deserve friends like you guys."

Their response came in scattered chuckles, in which Charlie knew he detected some modest humility as they sauntered back to their oars. The drum started up again and he stepped from the boat onto the pathway that led around the alliance of doors. He jogged straight up to the one labeled 'Inventing Room' and heaved the door open.

Charlie stood in the doorway for a long minute as he perceived the room. Things bubbled, boiled, popped, spun, whirred, jingled, slid and jumped, rattled, splashed and bounced as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But he was not fooled as easily as most would expect a boy his age to be. For one, the Inventing Room was entirely empty. No Willy Wonka. No Oompa Loompas.

For another, and though many practical adults would consider this to be folly, Charlie felt a sort of…_tingling_ of energy in the air. He felt it whenever Mr. Wonka got a new idea, or the Oompa Loompas appeared from nowhere to break into song. That meant Mr. Wonka was around here somewhere, hiding…

Charlie looked straight up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to discern an answer from there. About a split second later, he heard Mr. Wonka yell out from nowhere at all.

"Happy Birthday, Charlie!"

And sure enough, at least twenty Oompa Loompas sprung from their hiding places in such a discharge of music and a loud chorus of voices that Charlie almost fell over in shock. Many more of the small workers formed a ring around the outer part of the room. The yellow-and-green suited ones took up symmetrical positions on either side of the astonished boy, using their adept skills at dance and rhythmic chanting to lead into their surprise song.

_"We're glad to say, we have indeed, conferred together and agreed.  
__It's very clear we can't deny how quickly this year has flown by._

_Now it's time to celebrate.  
__No longer time to contemplate._

_For Charlie truly is a find, the rarest youngster of his kind.  
__Who sees beyond what others see, is patient, willing to believe._

_The time has come to realize, that his nature does not surprise  
__Us in the least, for we are sure that Charlie has a heart so pure._

_We could not doubt him in the least,  
__Watching him on Berry Street, _

_We surely must have found the best, shining brighter than the rest.  
__And now it has come to this day, we truly feel that we must say…_

_Welcome to the factory!"_

Charlie watched them perform with wonder in his eyes, grinning until his cheeks hurt at the sight of their innovative new dances, and blushing fiercely under their praise. As always, they vanished like fireflies when the song ended, leaving only two occupants in the room. Willy Wonka was standing just under one of the large contraptions hanging from the ceiling. He looked ready to explode with excitement.

"Mr. Wonka!" Charlie cried gratefully, racing over to meet the chocolatier. "When did you…I mean, that was wonderful, thank you-"

"Oh, don't thank _me_, Charlie, that was all the Ooompa Loompa's doing, not mine," Willy said with a wave of his hand. "You know, I was thinking about it for a long time, and it just didn't seem _fair_ that you were the only one of the children who didn't get a song!"

"But…I _did_ get a whole chocolate factory," Charlie reminded him.

"You didn't get anything from the Oompa Loompas."

"They didn't have to get me anything. Being their friend is more than anything I could ever ask for."

Charlie was surprised when Mr. Wonka's face fell dramatically, as if hurt. "Oh," he said, narrowing his eyebrows slightly. "Even including birthday presents?"

The boy shook his head, laughing quietly. "No, no, no, I meant that on terms of friendship. I couldn't have asked for better friends than them. And you."

It was Wonka's turn to laugh, and he did so while flashing his teeth in a very amused grin. "You don't pick your friends, Charlie. People aren't flowers, after all."

"No, of course not," was the glowing reply.

"Want the second half of your surprise?" Wonka asked, tilting slightly forward over his cane.

This, obviously, caught Charlie off guard. More than the amazing song the Oompa Loompas had prepared for him? "There's more?" he asked hesitantly.

"Heh, you're very funny, Charlie. I know you're going to love this surprise, I just know it! Here, hold out your arm like this and crouch next to the floor, 'Kay?" Wonka demonstrated briefly, bending his knees and extending his arm out in front of him so that it hovered a few inches from the floor.

Charlie blinked his confusion, but willingly did as he was told. There was no telling what Mr. Wonka had in mind, but he seemed to know what he was doing.

When he was in position, Willy stood up and twisted his head to one side, pressed his top teeth to his bottom lip and whistled. And about three seconds later, a sleek, orange-and-tan critter shot across the floor towards them.

Charlie almost fell backwards when the little animal hopped onto his arm and immediately scurried onto his shoulder. He jumped to his feet and turned his head to stare at it, wide-eyed. A pair of beady black eyes and a quivering, curious nose greeted him.

"Good, he likes you!" said Mr. Wonka brightly. "Isn't he delightful? Look at his little whiskers…"

"I…thank you," Charlie managed to say haltingly. "Though I'm afraid I don't understand."

"My dear boy, what's not to understand? He's a ferret. They're kind of like weasels, but he hates it when people mistake him for one. You should remember that, especially since he's yours now."

"You're…giving him to me?" the boy exclaimed in astonishment, watching the small rodent as it explored its new perch with its little claws. "That's…Mr. Wonka, that's incredible! Thank you!"

"Oh, you're very welcome," said Willy curtly. "And he's not just any ordinary ferret, either. He's specially trained, like the squirrels. Only he's trained to be a watch-ferret, nothing at all like those boring, ordinary ferrets who do nothing but sleep all day long."

"A watch-ferret?" The ferret stopped exploring and lifted its head to stare at Wonka.

"Yeah! Not only will he be your faithful little companion, but he's also trained to go scurrying for help if you were ever in danger! Very useful."

Charlie could only grin, feeling a little foolish for the amount of time he'd spent doing so today. His first _real_ pet! At least, in a way. He supposed he should take Wonka's word for it and treat this little furry creature as he would any of the trained squirrels – respectfully. He didn't want to remember the horror of Veruca Salt's fate when it came to squirrels.

"Does he have a name?" he asked the chocolatier. He gave the ferret a finger to sniff.

"Not yet he doesn't. _You_ get to name him, Charlie," Wonka explained cheerfully.

"But…I don't know of any good names," said Charlie, looking very thoughtful. "He's a bit of an odd color, but I don't think Butterscotch or Taffy would suit him. No, maybe I shouldn't name him after candy." An idea struck him and he craned his neck up at the chocolatier. "Mr. Wonka, what's your middle name?"

Willy made a tense, fidgety look of disgust and wrinkled his nose. "Oswald," he said.

That didn't sound like too bad a name, Charlie thought. It even agreed with the ferret, for one more glance at the rodent's face clearly told him that it was definitely an 'Oswald' as much as its fur was 'Butterscotch' or 'Caramel'. "I think that's what I'll name him. Oswald. If that's all right with you, I mean."

Oswald appeared to be content with the name. Either that or he wasn't aware that he'd just been named. He tucked his little head against his chest and began to preen his fur, as if neither the boy nor the chocolatier were there.

Wonka put on a wavering smile. "Okay, then. Let's take you and our new little buddy…Oswald, to the Chocolate Room. Breakfast can't wait forever, you know."

"Wait, Mr. Wonka-" Charlie began started just as Willy turned to leave. Unseen by the boy, the chocolatier grimaced before timidly turning back.

"Yes, Charlie?"

Charlie felt terrible for bringing this up, especially after the wonderful gift Mr. Wonka had just given him and the extreme kindness he'd ever shown him. There was a question, a small disturbance that tingled in his mind; itched until he could barely stand to keep it all locked in. For a long moment, he and Mr. Wonka stared at each other without so much as batting an eyelash.

"Berry Street," Charlie said at last. "The Oompa Loompas mentioned it in their song. That was the name of the street where I found the ten dollar bill."

Wonka flinched, and Charlie saw it. Above all else, he was confused. There could not have been any possible chance that…no, no it simply could not be possible. "I never told you the name of the street," he went on. "Just that I found the money."

He heard the sound of Mr. Wonka's gloves squeaking against the polished top of his cane as the chocolatier tightened his fingers. It looked as he was going to speak any moment, but continued to hesitate for no apparent reason. Then, he inhaled sharply. "Those confounded Oompa Loompas, always making trouble! I should have known from the start…"

"What?" said Charlie, unable to withhold his bafflement.

Mr. Wonka didn't reply immediately but crouched down on one knee in order to see the boy eye-to-eye. "Charlie, how angry would you be if I told you that the whole tour was just a great big hoax to keep the general public happy and still find a heir to the factory?"

Charlie was stunned. "A h-- a hoax? Why?"

The corners of Wonka's mouth twitched. "Well, gosh darn, Charlie, I just said it. Weren't you listening?"

"Then…" Charlie's throat seemed to swell to twice its size and suddenly, it was hard to swallow. "How? If the tour wasn't real, why did you…I mean, why am I still here?"

"To run the factory when I'm gone," was the casual reply. "_That_ part never changed at all. Fact is, I had my Oompa Loompas keep an eye on your for _weeks_ before I decided to make you my heir. Then all I did was make sure the other tickets were found by the nastiest children in the world, via Oompa Loompa intervention of course, and waited until you found the last ticket."

"But-" the boy found himself arguing at once. The whole concept was too sudden, too unbelievable for him. He could feel Oswald's whiskers tickling his ear as the ferret curled up against his neck, but just barely. "What about the ten dollars? Did the Oompa Loompas put that there, too?"

"Oh, dear boy, no!" Mr. Wonka laughed dismissively as he stood up again. "That happened by accident. Actually, you were supposed to get a golden ticket on your birthday, but Bernard gave your parents the wrong one! It was almost a catastrophe!"

"But I found the money and bought another Wonka bar," Charlie finished quietly, still quite dazed. "So you knew all along that I would win the factory."

"That's it in a nutshell," said the chocolatier, trying to keep the mood lively. "You're not mad at me, are you, Charlie?"

Charlie wasn't sure. To be honest, it was all _very _shocking to hear, yet there didn't seem to be anything wrong with Mr. Wonka's logic. Actually effect, when he put it into perspective, it was even _better_ than being chosen from a bunch of rotten kids. He had been chosen out of an entire _city_ full of children, and Mr. Wonka had gone through all that trouble just to ensure that he would become his heir. Suddenly, he felt a surge of affection for the strange chocolatier.

"No, not at all," he said at last, smiling when Mr. Wonka closed his eyes in relief. "I'm glad you told me. Am I allowed to tell my parents?"

"Of course you can tell your p—" Mr. Wonka pursed his lips and looked befuddled. " P-p...p…you know, this can't be good for my vocabulary."

"We'll work on it," Charlie promised. "Come on, let's go eat breakfast."

* * *

As soon as the door to the small house opened, Charlie could smell the delicious aroma of freshly cooked eggs and bacon, the slight tinge of cinnamon and coffee. Mrs. Bucket, standing at the head of the table and ladling hot soup into a bowl for Grandpa Joe, looked up when she heard the creaking of the hinges.

"Charlie Thomas Bucket!" she said demandingly, putting the pot down on the table and advancing on her son with obvious concern. "I don't know what caused that particular display this morning, but I swear you looked as if you had seen a ghost!'

"Sorry, mum," Charlie apologized honestly, realizing for the first time that he'd given her cause to worry. "I thought I did see a ghost. It wasn't a very friendly one."

The laughing shadows. He had to suppress a shudder just thinking about what they did to Mr. Wonka. At least, if he ever dreamed about them again, he would know it wasn't real. Then he could force himself to wake up.

His mother's warm smile was all he needed to reassure him. "Well, just try to warn us next time you—" Suddenly, she screamed shortly and almost bumped into the table in retreat. "Charlie, what on Earth is that?"

Charlie jolted and quickly brought his hand to his shoulder, remembering too late about Oswald. The little creature, which had been hiding under his collar until this point, had decided to poke his head around the edge of Charlie shirt and was looking around with curiosity.

"Oh, mum, this is Oswald. Mr. Wonka gave him to me a birthday surprise," he explained in a rush, taking the rodent into his hands as if to prove he was harmless. "He's a specially trained ferret. Don't worry, he won't bite."

At this moment, Mr. Wonka happened to step through the door himself, pausing only to lean his cane against the wall and turn to face the rest of the family. "Greetings, Buckets. Doesn't it smell wonderful today?"

Before anyone could muster an answer to that, Mrs. Bucket looked at the chocolatier, clenching the edge of the table with both hands. "It's nice to see you again, Mr. Wonka. I see Charlie…likes the present you gave him."

If Willy was meant to cue into her hint of disdain, he entirely missed his cue. He expressed a short laugh. "A surprise can come in every size," he said, much in the way someone would make an excuse for being late. "I do hope Charlie's new friend is as welcomed as warmly as I was. The poor little guy's been through so much, he could really use the help of a f…a fa…a bunch of great people like you!"

And if Mrs. Bucket had intended to put up an argument about the ferret's presence in the house, she was clearly unable to do so now that Willy had conveyed such importance on the little critter. She sighed and edged away from the table, still unsure of her son's new 'pet', which had returned quite comfortable to the boy's shoulder.

"Charlie, bring him over here," said Grandpa Joe, breaking the uneasy silence. "My niece used to have a ferret just like yours. You know, that's actually a very interesting story-"

As everyone settled around the table, Grandpa Joe told his tale about the little girl and her pet ferret. There was no more discussion about ghosts or bad dreams and neither Charlie nor Mr. Wonka thought to bring up the incident with April Banks.

The discussion led to Oswald and the proper way to care for a ferret, including what they ate, when they liked to sleep, where they liked to hide in case Charlie ever needed to find Oswald in the middle of the night, and so on. Charlie's surprise had taken up so much of his interest that he had utterly forgotten about his charge, which still lay harmlessly folded in his pocket.

* * *

_Sneak Peek: _Another unfriendly visit, the truth about the Wonka wrapper and the convenience of ferrets. 


	5. The Significance of Shadows

_Strange Candy_

**Summary: **On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

**Notes:** Well, I learned something from your reviews. One, Quietly Making Noise is very good at summing up what could alternately be a very long review in just one sentence. (grins Wonka-style) I like it. Two, Lady of Light needs more jellybeans. Unfortunately, I only have green ones left. The Oompa Loompas took the others. Thank you for you generous compliments! Oh, and three, I am forever convinced that Kokira is actually Willy Wonka in disguise. And apparently…people like…ferrets. Huh. I was going to go with a weasel originally, but they weren't as gosh darn cute.

Also note (these notes will be quite frequent, I must say) that 99 of the FBI mumbo-jumbo I'm making up as I go. I hate to say it again, but…I'm Canadian. We don't have FBI or CIA or even LAPD or NYPD or National Security or S.W.A.T. or…well, you know. We have the RCMP. Royal Canadian Mounted Police. FBI: Guns, flashy badges, long hours of criminal investigation and cool sunglasses. RCMP: Bright red suits, horses, funny hats and coffee.

By the way, and don't mind me, I just think this is funny…but Mr. Wonka's initials spell W.O.W…heh. I didn't realize that until after I wrote the chapter. Wow.

Okay, on with the tour— I mean…story. Hehe.

**Disclaimer: **Consult the bottom of the chocolate river.

* * *

_Chapter Five: The Significance of Shadows_

April cupped her hands over the small vent on her dashboard, trying to get the numbness out of her fingers. Her replacement car was a joke, no more than a pile of junk than ran on jumping beans and small explosions. Her _real_ car had been towed away at her own expense. They would not release it to her again until the 'paperwork' went through. And why, might one harmlessly ask? Because one Willy Wonka had a small town prohibition passed against parking cars anywhere within one hundred feet of his factory.

It would not be nearly half as bad had the heating system not been broken. Yes, it worked, but only on the lowest setting. Right now, April doubted that a furnace could heat this car. It was too full of holes and it was positively _freezing_ outside.

She had ordered a legal document, which allowed her to park anywhere in the city she wished, _including _the street outside of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Needless to say, this is where she was currently parked. It was a smug little victory, hardly worth the trouble she went through to get it, but still satisfying. She could just imagine that big, chocolate jerk staring at her through his big office window, glowering at his foiled attempt to rid of her.

_I'm going to get through this if I have to phone David Carusco himself,_ she thought bitterly. _Although he'd probably want to stay in Miami. Nice, hot, sunny Miami. CSI…unrealistic make-believe._

Her former colleague, Truman, would argue of course. Then again, Truman had always been a field agent and never, _ever_ went international. He was a drama artist, much more than he was an agent of the bureau.

April glanced over at the man sitting in the passenger seat of 'her' car, unsure of what she should think. After unsuccessfully interrogating the suspect the night prior, her commanding superior had chosen to first, chew her out and blame her for being the worst case of FBI scum ever. Then he had sent her back, and not alone.

Louis Wallstein was a permanent international FBI representative, which basically meant he was an American citizen living across seas. April had known him for less than two weeks, but she was positive that this guy either had no life, or he was very good at hiding it.

"Is something wrong?" he asked with a husky, slightly amused voice. His brow creased intently.

She jerked her head the other way and proceeded to grip the steering wheel tightly in her hands. "No, nothing's wrong," she said with forced patience. "I'm just thinking. That's all."

"Thinking? C'mon, Banks, this is a nut case. You failed to flush out the suspect, I got called in to open the jar of pickles. Or jelly beans. Take your pick."

"That's _not_--" she started, and lowered her voice, "—it. This isn't an ordinary factory, Louis. The owner is psychotic as far as I can tell. He probably runs his own mafia."

"You scared?"

"I'm not scared of anything," she replied shortly, glancing over her shoulder, then back to him. "That's not all. There's a small boy living here-"

"A kid? This guy has his own damn offspring? I thought you said he was a whacked-out weirdo!" Louis gestured lazily and set his elbow on the car door, looking frustrated.

"He is. I mean, that's what I think he is, and for all we know, this child could be anyone. He mentioned something about his family."

"Wait a minute, you _talked_ to this kid? Does Patterson know about this?"

"In three different languages. Now, the boy said he was Mr. Wonka's heir, which means he's either his son, or someone he chose to take over his business."

"Chose or kidnapped?" grunted Louis, furrowing his eyebrows.

"No, or he wouldn't have mentioned his family. That could only leave blood relation, or an actual legal adoption."

For a long moment, Louis seemed to considering this with his hand pressed over his lips in deep thought. For a middle-aged, balding man with a slightly bulging gut, he still maintained his professional manifestation. "All right, so how much background do you actually got on this guy?"

April sighed. "Not much. Typical little guy running his own candy shop, makes it big, opens a factory and disappears for fifteen years. Apparently there was some sort of contest last year where Mr. Wonka let five children tour his factory. In order to take the tour, you had to find some kind of ticket hidden beneath-"

"A Wonka bar wrapper, yeah," said Louis with a rude snort. "My youngest daughter went crazy over it. She must've bought twenty chocolate bars and cried for days when she didn't get a ticket.

She was only half-listening, to be honest. Truthfully, there was no one alive on the face of the Earth who had not heard of the famous search for golden tickets. She hated that kind of hype.

"Anyway," she said. "One of the children, an eleven-year-old boy, won something. That's all I know. According to the press, the boy's name wasn't released due to security and privacy reasons, and neither was the nature of the grand prize."

"So what you're saying is that, this boy you spoke to might be that kid who won some sort of prize?" mused the older agent. "Hmm. Any files on missing children reports or child abductions in the past year?"

April shook her head. Surprisingly, the entire city had responded to her questions regarding the boy living at the factory with offense. They had seemed angry that she would _dare_ accuse Willy Wonka of being a suspect of any kind of crime.

She was jerked from her thoughts by the sound of a car door handle clicking. Her eyes traveled to Louis, who was already stepping out of the car and into the snow. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening her own door and exiting through the driver's side.

They shut their doors almost simultaneously. April paused beside the beat-up old car as she wedged a pair of brown leather gloves onto her hands. They did little for warmth and less for fashion, but at least it was secure in the means of forensics. Should the factory become a crime scene in the next few days, she didn't want her fingerprints showing up in lab results.

She followed Louis up to the large, iron gates and tucked her fingertips into the sleeves of her coat. At least she had _thought_ to wear a coat this time. Louis had not. Yet he didn't show any sign of giving into the cold, which worsened her mood and of course, made the weather seem even _colder_.

"Friendly-looking place, isn't it?" said Louis, squinting his eyes at the enormous building. "Doesn't this guy believe in an open-door policy?"

"His candy is famous all over the world. He doesn't need friends or well-wishers," she reminded him, staring the iron gate down. "Don't expect a welcoming party. They don't exactly admit everyone who asks politely."

Louis grunted again and slowly walked the length of the gate, scanning the arch of stone above them. "Who said anything about asking politely?"

With that, he reached behind him, drew his gun and targeted something on the leftmost part of the arch. He fired, and a shower of sparks rained down on them, combined with the horrid stench of burning wires and plastic. April, having tensed at the unexpected shot, looked up to see the remains of a small, grayish white box fixated on the inner part of the stone arch. It smoked around the bullet that was now embedded in its middle.

"These old-fashioned type gate mechanisms are all the same," said Louis calmly, tucking his gun back into its holster. "There's always a fuse box. Destroy it, and you destroy the electronic locking system." As if to prove his theorizing, he reached out and pushed on the iron bars in front of him. With a grudging creak, it swung open.

"I sincerely hope you weren't trying to impress me," she said, sweeping her eyes over the stone arch. "Because back at headquarters, they call that 'breaking and entering'."

"Actually, it's called 'legal productivity' when you've got one of these babies," said the older agent, taking a paper from the inside of his jacket and passing it to her.

She took it, sighed and dropped her arm to her side. "A warrant. I should have guessed. Would you mind telling me how you got one of these without having_ any_ initial contact with the suspect?"

Louis shrugged. "I asked politely," he said with convincing innocence. Without waiting for her response, he turned around and began to walk towards the main entrance to the factory.

April glared at his back for a begrudging moment, caught in the backwash of his sense of humour. She clasped her arms tightly to herself and trotted to catch up with him, eventually surpassing him with a wicked side-glance. His amused chuckling followed her all the way to the doors.

What she wouldn't give to have Truman back.

* * *

Everything had returned to normal once morning came around, when Charlie found himself waiting anxiously for his day of work to begin with Mr. Wonka. At least, everything was as normal as it was likely to become with a ferret on his shoulder and hands covered in thick, sticky goo.

That had been his fault, partly. He had accidentally touched a gummy tree in its early sapping stages and nearly gotten himself stuck, had the Oompa Loompas not been nearby to un-stick him. Now Charlie was standing on the bank of the chocolate river, just a few meters from the spot the bright pink boat normally landed. This was where Mr. Wonka had instructed him to wait, just as he did every weekend, all the time.

This time, however, he had Oswald to keep him company. He had found that the little ferret was in fact, much more intelligent than Mr. Wonka had credited him for. For one, the ferret seemed to listen to and understand everything Charlie said. He could scurry off occasionally, but never failed to return to his perch immediately if Charlie called on him. To put it simply, Oswald adored Charlie, and Charlie was beginning to feel mutual. It was nice to have someone, even a ferret, listen all the time.

He had told Oswald all about the nightmare from the night before and even went as far as admitting how frightened he had been afterwards. The thoughts made his insides squirm. Never, ever again did he want to envision that terrible fall…

"I know it sounds silly," he told the ferret, strolling placidly along the edge of the bank. The chocolate flowed lazily beside him. "It's silly, but…I like Mr. Wonka. He's my friend, just the way he is. Why would someone want to hurt him? He doesn't deserve it."

Oswald had no intelligent response to this of course, but he did bob his head a little. That reassured Charlie as much as if the little ferret had given a speech on agreement.

"Do you think I should just forget about it?" the boy asked thoughtfully. "I guess it's pointless to keep thinking about it. Mum says if you always live in dreamland, you forget about real things. Real things like the factory, and the real Mr. Wonka. I should be happy that it was just a nightmare, but…" He stopped at the top of a knoll overlooking the river. "But…I'm still afraid. Afraid that it will happen again. Except this time, I won't wake up, because it's not a dream…"

Charlie stared into the thick river of chocolate, becoming lost in almost unnatural miserable contemplation. What would become of him, of his family, if something ever did happen to Mr. Wonka? What would Mr. Wonka do if something happened to Charlie? Would he throw his family out, or shut down the factory?

_No_, he thought immediately. _He would never do that. He would make sure they were taken care of, even if he found another heir to take over the factory._

But then, what would happen if something happened to both him, _and_ Mr. Wonka?

_They'd definitely close the factory_, he concluded, shoving his hands in his pockets. It was happening again. The uncontrollable sadness he felt whenever he thought of losing Mr. Wonka, not only because the factory would shut down in such an even, but because he desperately wanted to have Mr. Wonka around forever.

Forever was a very long time, however. And for everything Mr. Wonka was, he was not immortal. Someday, whether it was sooner or later, he would be gone…and Charlie would be left alone.

How strange it felt to him, to abruptly stop caring about his own career. What did owning a gigantic chocolate factory and the whole Wonka industry mean anyway, if there _was_ no more Wonka? What would it matter to him? Charlie didn't want the fame, the chocolate, or the money. He didn't care about it all half as much as he cared about Willy Wonka.

_That's too bad_, nagged the cold, reasoning voice of truth from the back of his mind. _Because one day, he'll be stone dead. You won't have any friends anymore. You'll be all alone, just like him. _

Apparently, Oswald had a gift for interpreting Charlie's moods from the slightest signs, for the ferret seemed to know exactly what was running through his mind and curled up tightly against his collar. Absently, the boy reached up and stroked the soft fur on the ferret's back whilst he continued to stare straight on ahead.

Just like a drifting cloud of smoke, his mingled feelings of grief and guilt suddenly brought upon a wave of dizziness and fatigue. Alarmed, Charlie tried to struggle against the strange sensation of losing consciousness, but then it wasn't really _like_ fainting at all. It felt as if someone had stepped through a door in his mind and was taking control of his body. But instead of making it move, it was causing his knees to wobble, his joints to ache painfully and a horrible throbbing sensation to burn inside his head.

And then he recognized it. The very same, chilling, bone-rattling feeling he had when he saw those shadows. Now that he listened, he heard the manic giggling burst out of nowhere. The shadows had _him_ and they were draining his strength away like milk through a straw.

The room around him reeled dangerously. Just before he lost his balance, he felt Oswald leap from his shoulder in terror. And the ground left his feet, or he feet left the ground, whichever was appropriate. Then he was falling forward, into absolute nothingness.

He heard, rather than felt the boiling chocolate swallow him whole when he landed in the river. His body jolted awake, as if released from a devastating spell. He began to sink through the hot, melted chocolate, tasted it in his mouth and felt it glide through his fingertips as he floundered aimlessly. He could not see, or hear anymore. He couldn't tell which way was up or down, left or right. There was no telling how far down he was.

Suddenly, his head broke the surface and he heaved himself up, gasping. Liquid chocolate ran into his eyes and his mouth and he began to cough as he accidentally inhaled some of it. The current tore at his limbs and he was down again, beneath the surface, being carried away by the course of the river.

He tried his best to swim against it. He clawed furiously at anything he touched, desperate to snag onto something, anything. Yet it was all in vain, for his fingers simply scraped against solid stone, and once he managed to snatch a few blades of grass in between his fingertips, but they snapped and he was swept away.

This was worse than any normal river or pool he had ever been in. The chocolate was five times thicker than water and the current way too strong for him to battle. He knew what was ahead and he knew he couldn't possible survive being tossed down raging rapids. Again and again he threw out his arms, floundering without success to catch on.

And then the world dropped away from him.

Charlie screamed in fear and pain as the river churned and surged forward, throwing him into the slope and vicious torrent. Almost at once, he was crushed against the side of the tunnel before being pulled under again. His body twisted and turned aimlessly, careening into the wall more times than he could count. His lungs were on fire; his eyes stung something terrible. All the while he yelled incoherently, unsure of whether he was above or below the surface.

Finally, he plunged into the deeper part of the river inside of the cavern. Even though the current had weakened considerably, so had Charlie. He felt he could barely move his arms to attempt to reach the surface. He tried anyway, pulling with the last morsel of his strength at the churning chocolate until he couldn't pull anymore.

As his limbs gave in, his body suspended for a moment in the middle of the chocolate. Charlie could feel the cool air on his fingertips as his hand broke the surface, but he found that his arms would no longer obey him. There was no way to propel himself upwards. He began to sink, his fingers twitching as the warm chocolate swallowed them up.

_This…this is it_, he thought, descending ever so slowly through the seemingly bottomless river. His chest screamed; his head swelled. _I can't breathe…it…it hurts. Mum, Dad…Mr. Wonka…_

His body was so numb, he barely felt the hand plunge through the chocolate and seize him by the wrist. Quite suddenly, he found himself being heaved upwards, dragged through the syrupy river until his hand broke the surface again. He rose and rose until…

His head broke free! Charlie choked, trying to inhale and spit the chocolate from his mouth at the same time. Somehow he managed to gulp in great lung-fulls of oxygen without passing out, although his lungs felt as if they were going to burst open any moment.

Still coughing and sputtering, he willingly allowed himself to be hauled onto the edge of the river, but by no means did he have the strength to hold on to the stone floor. His rescuer evidently realized this and lifted him up by both arms until he was sprawled on the ground like a half-dead fish. Charlie rolled over onto his back, his chest heaving in and out. His eyes still stung, but no longer from the chocolate, but from tears of relief and agony. His body was bruised in several hundred places, it seemed, and it _hurt_ so badly…

Although his sight was blurry, it was returning. He was dimly aware of a face hovering over him. A voice was drifting to his ears, however clogged with chocolate they were.

"Charlie…Hey, Charlie! Deep breaths, 'Kay? In an out, just keep breathing, that's the key. Breathe, my dear boy, breathe!"

And breathe Charlie did, until his chest ached a little less and the pounding in his head had been reduced to a little tremor. His vision came into focus, and he very abruptly understood why the strange face and the voice were so familiar.

"M-Mr. Wonka…?" Charlie foolishly tried to sit up and was rewarded with a great deal of pain around his ribs. Hissing sharply, he lay back again and skewed his eyes shut. "I…I'm sorry…I didn't mean-"

"Oh, balderdash! Why in Lolliloompa Land would you fall into the chocolate river on purpose?" said Willy with no trace of irritation. Instead, he sounded as if he were on the verge of breaking down. "I think you swallowed just a bit too much chocolate there, Charlie!"

Charlie's chest convulsed with a silent laugh, which inevitably made it hurt even more. He groaned and waited for the sudden surge of pain to die away. He felt something tickle his neck and attempted to brush it away, only to find a small, sleek body neck to his head.

"Your furry little friend ran to get me right after you fell in," Mr. Wonka explained with a tinge of pride in his voice. "It's a good thing I was already on my way or I just may have…" Suddenly, his face fell and he looked positively frightened. A split moment later, he forced himself to grin reassuringly. "See? I knew Oswald was the most splendiforus idea ever! To think what might have happened if I hadn't given him to you for your birthday!"

"Let's not," Charlie told him with a pained smile. "I don't ever want to eat chocolate again. At least…not for a very long time."

Willy gasped in horror and curled his fingers close to his body. "Hey! That was uncalled for!"

Charlie laughed weakly, bracing himself against the pain. "Sorry. I…Mr. Wonka, thank-"

"Nuh uh!" the chocolatier interrupted briskly. He cupped his hands over his ears and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Lalalalalala…not listening to 'thank you' again, thank you very much! Gosh, Charlie, all I did was save you from drowning in the most delicious, delectable chocolate in the world. If anything, you should hate me!"

Charlie's face broke into a grin, one that did not last very long at all. For the pain in his ribs became overbearing; his head was clearly fed up with his searing nerves. Mr. Wonka's face began to fade away, the corners of his vision turning dark.

He closed his eyes and immediately blacked out.

* * *

There were three shadows. Charlie was watching them through invisible eyes, watching as the scene unfolded before him. The shadows were giggling hysterically, although they did not move and did not seem to realize he was there at all. Their giggling turned into whispering, the whispering into soft voices.

All three of them were human-shaped, but Charlie only recognized one. It was Willy Wonka. He could see his face and his eyes, purple, the only colour amidst the black, blurry figure. There was something odd about the way he was standing, as if he were trying to protect something from the other shadows…

Charlie then realized that there were _four_ shadows, and not three. The fourth one was small, crouching close to the ground behind Mr. Wonka. As he continued to stare at it, it took shape. It was him.

This would not have been so alarming had he not realized what the other two shadows were doing. They stood apart from each other. The one closest to Mr. Wonka had one arm stretched out towards the chocolatier. Something was in its hand, but the details were too vague to make out completely. The third figure, a somewhat smaller and slighter one, was standing similarly with both arms stretched out towards the second shadow. Something was gripped tightly in its hands.

The voices went on, too softly and too muddled for Charlie to hear, but they spoke. All of a sudden, the same, shapeless mass of black fog from his first dream leapt out of nowhere and seized the third, smallest figure. After a brief struggle, it collapsed and the fog laughed. Giggled. Oh, how Charlie hated that sound…

The head of the second shadow turned towards the dead one, then slowly turned back to Mr. Wonka. Charlie _saw_ Mr. Wonka tremble in fright, edging as close to the shadow-Charlie as possible.

Too late did Charlie realize what the second shadow held. There was a brief flicker of light and the dulled sound of a bang. Shadow-Wonka jerked, wavered on his feet for what was surely an eternity, before then collapsing.

Charlie watched as his shadow screamed and flung itself over Wonka's body. There the shadow clung, sobbing with a dread-filled heart. Slowly, almost lazily, the second shadow and the wielder of the gun advanced on him.

The gun was raised; another voice spoke mildly.

Flash of light.

And then darkness.

* * *

_Sneak Peek: _Confrontations and cold, blunt reality. Plans are…'foiled'. Hehehe. 


	6. Pretense of Tolerance

_Strange Candy_

**Summary: **On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

**Notes: **To be quite frank, my dear Lady of Light, yes I can, yes I _did_…and yes it is. You will soon learn that I am an intolerably cruel when it comes to cliffhangers. Heh heh. Kokira—I mean, Mr. Wonka, I am indeed, a very short person. However, insinuating that I have any blood relation whatsoever to those poor Oompa Loompas is insulting. To the Oompa Loompas. You don't want to insult your own workers now, would you? Thank you for the wonderful chocolates.

I'm afraid, PucktoFaerie, that it is difficult to tell. Let's just say…If I'm smart, everyone will turn out unharmed and the world will live happily ever after. But I also have the IQ of a bag of potato chips. So there. Heh. Valerie Phoenixfire, erm…thank-you? I'm touched you were looking forward to it so much. And just so you know, it was _very_ difficult to write that last part. I'm getting soft…SinisterChic, I hear you. Although I changed the secondary genre to suspense, I assure you there will be some April/Wonka later on in the fic. Just don't expect Nora Roberts to spring up and take over when it comes to my lame-penguin-typing-with-two-broken-pencils-and-a-blind-hamster attempt at romance.

Who's next…ah, Lynx Ryd— HOLY FUDGE—!

……

Um, no no…I…like…your reviews. In fact, I like them _very _much. Your reviews tell me exactly what parts of the chapter you enjoyed the most. Also, many of the things you mentioned I hadn't even realized I'd typed…wow…though…at first, when I saw them, I thought someone had reviewed and accidentally hit the 'submit review' button one too many times. But that's not the case. Hehe. Clearly. Wow. Thanks!

**Serious Note/Apology: **I sincerely, _sincerely_ must not get into the habit of replying to every single review. Thus said, if I make no response to someone's review (or reply very shortly) in the upcoming chapters, it does not necessarily mean that I'm ignoring your review. It does, in fact, mean that I must not make my headers too long. I get easily vexed with people who take up half their fanfiction with review replies, so I don't want to end up vexing myself. Hehe.

**Disclaimer: **Consult previous chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Six: Pretense of Tolerance_

The corners of Mr. Wonka's mouth dropped when Charlie's eyes fluttered shut. A surge of panic overtook him and he leaned forward slightly. His trembling hand hovered in the air just before him. "…Charlie?"

To his tremendous relief, Charlie had not fallen into an endless sleep. Sometimes, he remembered, the Oompa Loompas would fall asleep and be _so _gosh darned exhausted that they couldn't wake up! The first time he'd discovered this was happening, while routinely visiting the Oompa Loompa sick ward, he'd ordered his little workers to take a nap during the day so they wouldn't tire themselves out so quickly.

This caused him to lapse into serious thought, which was as uncommon a thing as little boys falling into his chocolate river. What was he supposed to do _now_? Clearly, Charlie had to be moved somewhere he could get some proper sleep, but where? His house in the Chocolate Room seemed like the obvious choice, because there Charlie would be taken care of by his p…his p— his mom and dad.

The only problem was, there was no _direct_ route from here to the Chocolate Room, and the boat certainly didn't run backwards up the rapids. The elevator was out of the question. How could he prevent the boy's head from cracking against the glass and stay balanced while carrying him? No, the glass elevator was most definitely a method of travel for the conscious and wary.

Which left only one option: Mr. Wonka had to carry Charlie all the way around the tunnels, up the stairs and through the Donglejuice Harvesting room, himself.

He looked down, unsure of how he would carry his cane _and_ Charlie at the same time. In a very plaintive manner, he glanced from the boy, to the polished walking stick on the floor. Charlie. Cane. Charlie, to Cane. Cane to Charlie. Charlie or Cane?

Charlie won.

Finally, with an infamous pout on his face, he reached out and cautiously hooked one arm under the boy's knees, and the other around his back. With a great amount of effort that pulled at his face and his muscles like taffy, Mr. Wonka stood up with Charlie in his arms. He almost reeled off balance, feeling awkward both without his cane and with such a heavy burden. When was the last time he had to carry something bigger than a whicker basket?

"Fudgesticks," he mumbled, teetering backwards for a moment. Somehow he managed to topple forward again, planting his feet firmly on the floor to save himself from diving headfirst into the river of chocolate. "How does…one little boy…put on so much weight…in one little year? It must be all those vegetables. I keep telling Mrs. B about those nasty carrots and beans, but does she listen, Oswald? Nnnoooo, no one listens to Willy Wonka. Why do they think I don't put veggies into my candy mixes? It's perfectly gross, dreadful, unbelievably unhealthy, but they just don't seem to care. Am I right, furry little guy?"

'Furry little guy' was busily scampering after him as the chocolatier walked and rambled. Quickly, the ferret darted forward and clambered from his pantleg, to his coat and up onto his shoulder, where he looked down at the sleeping form of the boy in Willy's arms. Oswald's nose twitched curiously.

"Oh, I _know_," Mr. Wonka went on, as if the ferret had just spoken its feelings aloud. He paced briskly around the corner of the tunnel and down the gentle slope that led to the second chamber. "He needs his rest almost immediately, but not _too _immediately, 'cause goodness knows he just might fall asleep and never wake up! I really must-"

"You! Stop right there!"

Wonka froze where he stood and nearly lost his hold on Charlie, a complete and utterly baffled look coming across his face. For what seemed like hours, but in reality was mere moments, he stared with confusion at the two people at the other end of the tunnel. Without thinking, his cradling grip on the unconscious Charlie tightened.

"H-Hey!" he cried, suddenly recognizing one of the two people. "It's…you! The lawyer lady! How did you…you're not allowed in here!"

The woman bristled at the sight of the chocolatier. April's mind did a somersault as she registered what she was seeing. Absently, her hand shot out and rested on her partner's arm as the middle-aged agent reached for his gun. She couldn't be sure, but…

"Please…tell me that boy is alive," she said through fiercely gritted teeth.

Confused, Mr. Wonka glanced down at the boy in his arms and made a puzzled face. "Heh, alive…alive, um…you bet! He's so alive, in fact, if he were ever more alive, he'd be…fantastic." He gulped and his eyes darted sideways, towards Oswald. "What does that mean?" he whispered to the ferret perching on his shoulder.

"Okay, Mr. Wonka," said April, using her most instructive, yet demanding voice she knew. She advanced across the stone walkway carefully, ignoring the dull roar of the chocolate river. "We're just going to talk, but first…I need you to put Charlie down. We're not going to hurt him, or you. We just want to talk to you."

Willy was not about to do any such thing! He opened his mouth to speak, but yelped suddenly as something sharp bit him on his ear. "Ow! Oswald! Bad ferret, that was _very_ bad!" he cried as the ferret leapt from his shoulder onto the ground. "Frizzled Froglegs, that _hurt_!"

He'd failed to realize that April's friend, the much chubbier and meaner-looking man standing next to her had reached behind him and brandished a small metal object towards him during the chocolatier's outburst. Although the April lady looked angry towards the man for doing this, Willy couldn't even begin to understand why.

"Louis, put the gun away!" April snapped, gesturing madly at him. "That is _not_ how we're going to solve this! Put it away, dammit!"

If anything, her 'friend' Louis looked like he'd rather dive into the chocolate river than put his gun away. Mr. Wonka was simply confused by the whole thing – he had no idea what this thing Mr. Louis had and why the lawyer lady was making such a big fuss about it, but there surely was no more time to be wasting with idle chatter! Charlie needed help!

April was furious. With herself, first, for being so stupid and naïve enough to dream about becoming an FBI agent when she was little, and then at Louis for being so _damn_ uncooperative! Knowing that steel would burn before her partner listened, she turned on Willy Wonka instead.

"Listen to me, Mr. Wonka, you _have _to do as I say. Put Charlie down, and we can discuss this like adults."

Willy grimaced. "Do we really have to? Adults take _forever_ when they talk about stuff. And Charlie needs to go to the Chocolate Room!"

April threw an appraising look at the boy, who was indeed, covered from head to foot in what appeared to be dried chocolate. Her stomach twisted angrily and for a moment, just a _moment_, she wished that _she_ were the one pointing a gun at Mr. Wonka, just so she could _imagine_…

"I think," she said dryly, "that Charlie has had enough chocolate today, Mr. Wonka. I'm only going to ask you this one more time, and then my partner will have no other choice but to shoot. Put Charlie down, and step away from him."

But Willy was also getting a little annoyed. Not only did he not understand _why_ he needed to do as she said, but _why_ she was asking him in the first place. Couldn't she see that Charlie was hurt? He needed his parents!

"Put him down, Mr. Wonka."

Mr. Wonka was irritated. "Okay, okay, keep you Whangsnozzers on a leash!" Gently, ever so gently as to not aggravate the boy's bruises, he lowered Charlie to the ground and stood up straight again. "You know, after Charlie saved your life yesterday and all, you'd think you would show a little more compassion for him."

"This is the most compassionate thing I've done all day," said Louis acidly, speaking for the first time. His arms did not even waver as he trained the 'gun' on the chocolatier.

"Now, step away from him," April instructed. "I'm going to come closer, to check something."

Now, letting go of Charlie was one thing. He was still in Willy's reach, which still made him feel secure, but being ordered to go _out_ of arm's reach of the boy? Mr. Wonka did not like that idea at all. It must have showed on his face in some varying form of a frown or a twitch of his lips, for April repeated, even more sternly.

"Back _away_, Mr. Wonka. We _are_ authorized to use any force necessary to protect the lives of innocents."

Willy wasn't sure how he knew, but for some reason, not doing what April told him to do felt like a bad idea. She seemed pretty sure that something terrible would happen if he didn't follow her instructions, but how could that possible be? They were over there; he was over here.

Still, something told him to back away from Charlie as she directed, and he did with utmost uneasiness. To his surprise, Miss April appeared to deflate with relief as he left Charlie's unconscious body and stopped to stand about a yard or so away.

April rushed forward and crouched next to the boy, pressing her fingers against the left side of his neck. Mr. Wonka flinched, ready to leap forward at Charlie's defense, but she only stood up again and brushed her long hair over her shoulder. "He's alive."

That seemed to make Louis, the other agent, visibly relax. But only by a little. The barrel of his gun-thingy-ma-jiggy was still aimed at Mr. Wonka and it did not look as if it were going to be withdrawn anytime soon.

"Alive," April repeated a little wearily. "But he's breathing shallow and he's feverish. It sounds like there's fluid in his lungs. He was on the verge of drowning, and recently." There was no lack of malicious loathing as she stared at Willy Wonka, for in her mind, _he _was the tyrant who had caused this boy to suffer.

Mr. Wonka clearly did not notice. "I told you Charlie needed help. His p…his mom will know what to do."

April only half-heard what the chocolatier was saying. Instead, her gaze was now fixed on something that had caught her eye, a slight glimmer amidst the brown, crusty chocolate that covered the boy. Slowly, she knelt down and reached for the shiny fold of paper that stuck out from the top of Charlie's pocket. She gasped as she recognized it.

"My. God. This is the Wonka wrapper I gave to Charlie yesterday!" she snapped, turning the nearly ruined bit of foil over in her hands. "This foil is evidence, specific proof that the chocolate bars were poisoned, and you…_you_…" Whatever restraint she had rattled against her nerves like a malevolent thunderstorm. Slowly, she stood up and pointed at the chocolatier. "_You_ knew exactly what you saw when you looked at it! You knew you'd been caught putting toxins into your chocolate, and you just _had_ to destroy the evidence! The evidence, and the _single_ person who knew about it; Charlie! You tried to _drown_ him in _chocolate_? You…you…_bastard_!"

April would very likely have gone on with her outraged accusation, had a light moan not broken the moment of silence that followed thereafter. Two sets of eyes snapped towards Charlie, who now squirmed as he began to rouse groggily from his state of unconsciousness. The boy opened his eyes, blinked and made some very unhappy grunts as he felt his bruises stir with him. But he managed to wearily push himself into a sitting position.

Only then did he seem to realize what was happening. And unfortunately, the first thing he saw was Louis, wielding a pistol, though blurry eyes. Alarmed, Charlie jerked his head around to see what this unexplained stranger was trying to shoot. And his blood ran ice-cold.

_Too late did Charlie realize what the second shadow held. There was a brief flicker of light and the dulled sound of a bang. Shadow-Wonka jerked, wavered on his feet for what was surely an eternity, before then collapsing._

"_No_!" His voice tore from his throat hoarsely as he lurched to his feet. Blindly, he half-stumbled and half-ran towards the man holding the gun. "Stop it! You won't…I won't let you hurt him!" With that, he made a wild grab for the outstretched gun.

Louis was too startled to do much more than pull back on the gun, which was now the object of a flurried struggled. Charlie, who was understandably much weaker than the older agent, clawed furiously for the weapon. He didn't know why. _He_ didn't want it; he just wanted it to go away. To make this man, this monster, this fiend, this _shadow_ go away, or—

Suddenly, a pair of strong hands seized him around the middle and pulled, separating the boy from the bewildered FBI agent. Charlie struggled with all of his might against those arms, but to no avail. Whatever little energy he had regained was spent and he gave in, panting in exhaustion as those hands set him firmly on his feet, a safe distance away from Louis.

"Whew…Charlie, I think I should really…introduce you to my therapist," commented an out-of-breath, yet familiar voice from behind him.

Charlie jolted and spun around. "Mr. Wonka!"

Whatever cheerful greeting Mr. Wonka had reserved for him, however, was cut off by the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked. On his very instinct, Charlie whirled about and stretched out his arms, as if they would serve as some sort of pathetic shield for Mr. Wonka.

_He could see his face and his eyes, purple, the only colour amidst the black, blurry figure. There was something odd about the way he was standing, as if he were trying to protect something from the other shadows…_

"Wait! Stop! You don't understand!" Charlie yelled, when he saw the agent's gun being re-aimed. "He doesn't understand…I mean, he doesn't know what it means, or what it is! Please, he's innocent! Please…_please_, don't shoot…" And he squinted his eyes, waiting for any moment for that telltale sound and the impact…

A derisive snort was what he heard instead. He opened his eyes. Louis lowered his weapon and made an annoyed look. "I'm not gonna shoot you, kid," he drawled. "But I want answers. April-" he grouched, holding up a hand to silence her before she could intervene. "Not now. You've jumped to conclusions one too many times today. For now, I'm revoking your license to question the suspect, and be _lucky_ that's all I'm gonna do, so _don't_ complain!"

April's jaw dropped, but she quickly snapped it shut. She accepted her punishment in silence, whether it was or wasn't fair game. She shot a very angry glare towards Mr. Wonka, who fidgeted under such demeaning eyes.

Charlie didn't care what went on between them. He was still eying the gun. "No guns," he demanded. "I'll tell you everything that happened, but don't…don't point that at Mr. Wonka."

The balding man wiped his brow with his sleeve, due to the sweltering temperature of the river tunnels. Then he re-holstered his gun. "So, your name is Charlie, is it?"

Cold relief washed over him. Charlie nodded numbly. "Yes, sir. Charlie Bucket."

"Well, Charlie, my friend and I are agents of a law enforcement agency called the FBI. Do you know what that is?"

Of course, Charlie heard about them on television all the time. He even remembered watching a TV show about them once, but the picture hadn't been very clear and the audio was fuzzy. Still, he knew what they meant, and if that were true, then…

"Mr. Wonka…isn't in trouble, is he?" he said.

"Charlie, did you show Mr. Wonka that candy bar wrapper I gave you?" April cut in, heedless of what Louis had ordered her.

Charlie gasped and his hand went to his pocket immediately, feeling a surge of panic when it proved to be empty. "Oh, no! I forgot all about the Wonka wrapper! I was going to show it to Mr. Wonka today, but then-" He stopped himself before he could say 'I fell in the river'. The last thing he needed was for them to find out he'd been endangered by a creation of Mr. Wonkas'.

"Then what?" pressured April, as genially as if they were talking about last night's news.

"I…I forgot," the boy finished, a little hesitantly.

"Well, who wouldn't forget after they tumble head-first into a giant river of melted chocolate?" said Wonka, with a little laugh. It was a forced, shaky laugh. Apparently he was torn between two feelings towards Charlie's frantic concern for him. "That would definitely make an elephant forget, or so my mom used to say."

"You fell into the river? Of…melted _chocolate_?" Agent Wallstein's brow furled unbelievingly, but he made the pretense of tolerance. "Did the blue fairy save you?"

"Louis," April shot warningly. Not because she accepted any of this as true or even _possible_, but for points in professionalism.

"No," said Charlie, defensively. "Actually, Mr. Wonka saved me. I…got dizzy, and slipped. Mr.Wonka found me and pulled me out. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to go home and take a shower, and I'm sure Mr. Wonka has a lot of work to do."

Only April heard Louis mutter "I'm sure he does," as the comment was made under his breath. How desperately she wanted to slap him. As if today weren't disaster enough, there was no was she could pin this crazy chocolatier for child abuse if the boy claimed to have been _saved_ by the man. Especially not in an international suit. However…

"Weren't not quite finished, Charlie," she said, perhaps too harshly. "There are a number of children in Gladwin, Michigan who have been poisoned by small increments of diphtheria, ingested through the chocolate in Wonka candy bars."

There. She'd finally said it. Pity the poor boy had to hear it, though, she would rather have left him out of the situation. Her resentment was reserved for Willy Wonka alone.

A raw lump formed in the back of Charlie's throat. "What?"

"No!"

That startled them all for a stunned moment of silence. It was Willy who had made the outburst. His face was rigid, even twitching. His hands wrung themselves as the material of his gloves squeaked, portraying just how frightened he had become.

"Mr. Wonka knows what I'm talking about," she said conversationally. "Don't you, Mr. Wonka?"

Wonka looked like a lost four-year-old who had just been hit by a snowball. His mouth opened but no sound came out. For a painfully enduring moment, he seemed to flounder with a thousand words at once but could not seem to work them out with his lips.

In truth, Mr. Wonka was _truly_ baffled and horrified. Poisoned? From _his_ chocolate? Such a thing was not possible. Wonka chocolate was not like any other chocolate in the world! It was pure, untainted and never touched by humans, let alone anyone who would want to put poison into it!

"We can't issue an arrest, nor shut down the factory by law," April went on, ignoring Louis' furious glare. "None of the families wish to press charges. We can't release it to the media – thousands of people will become involved and the Bureau wants to keep the issue covered. We can't even take Mr. Wonka into the International Security office for questioning. That would be stepping over the legal boundaries for handling foreign criminals."

Charlie's face flushed angrily when he heard this. "Mr. Wonka is _not_ a criminal! All he's ever done was make chocolate and invent new kinds of candy to share with the rest of the world! He wouldn't ever hurt anyone on purpose!"

"Charlie-" Willy started, sounding curiously stern.

"It isn't true, Mr. Wonka!"

"Oh, it's true," said April. She crouched down, eye-level to the boy. "Charlie, I asked you to give Mr. Wonka that bit of tinfoil because it had traces of the mold left behind by diphtheria on the inside of it. I know it's difficult to believe that Mr. Wonka would ever hurt someone, but sometimes grown-ups do things for reasons you might not understand…"

"Stop it!" he cried, wrenching away from her outstretched hand. How could she even suggest that Mr. Wonka would do something that evil? He backed away towards Willy. "I don't believe you. Even if it were true, he's still not guilty! You…don't know him."

He could tell by her unchanging expression that his words were having no effect. April gave him a look he supposed she thought was a trusting one. "Charlie, you shouldn't be afraid to tell me anything. If there's anything at all that you want to tell me about Mr. Wonka, I promise that you won't be punished for it. Did Mr. Wonka…hurt you?"

"No!" Charlie blurted heatedly. "Look, it was my fault I fell into the river! If that's so important, why don't you arrest me for being careless? That's what you really want, isn't it?"

April sighed and tilted her head forwards, unsure of how she should respond to this. If this child were acting for the sake of not angering Mr. Wonka, then he was definitely the best actor she had ever met in her twelve years of service in the bureau. She stood up. "Louis, let's go."

She turned around, fully expecting a red-faced Wallstein to bear down on her like a ton of bricks. Instead, she saw nothing. "Louis?"

The older agent was nowhere to be seen.

Mildly shocked, she spun on her heel to face the boy and the chocolatier. They were both gone. "Mr. Wonka!" she said sharply. Her voiced echoed on the walls of the tunnel. "Mr. Wonka! Charlie?"

Not surprisingly, the only answer she received was the serene bubbling of the chocolate as it flowed along in its riverbed. A sudden movement caught her eye and she snapped her head towards an open door in the wall. _No_, she thought. Not open. The door was glass, and behind that door stood Charlie and Mr. Wonka. The chocolatier had one gloved hand resting on the boy's shoulder.

Charlie looked worried. But April was not looking at Charlie, she was staring intently at the face of the chocolatier. Mr. Wonka wore an expression she'd never expected to see on the lunatic's face. It was steel, cold, and clear. There was no mistaking what it meant. _Leave Charlie alone. _

Those three words might have well been drilled into her head. A moment later, the room around the pair jerked and sped out of sight, leaving April dazed. An elevator! And one made of glass; the notion didn't even seem possible…

But then, today had been the most surprising day of her life. And among those surprises was the strange look on Mr. Wonka's face, almost as if he were daring her to take the boy away from him. Surely it couldn't be possible that this madman harboured any love for the child? That was almost as absurd as a python befriending a field mouse.

_This man is full of mysteries_, she thought angrily. _And I'm not going to stand here untangling them. That bastard Louis is going to explain _very_ soon why he didn't stick around for the tearful goodbye._

With that extremely unhappy thought, she turned and stormed away. Soon, she would get to the bottom of this, even if she had to break the rules to get there. She would slap that smug little grin from Willy Wonka's face with the hand of justice.

* * *

_Sneak Peek: _Terrible things come in twos for Charlie. 


	7. Avalanche

_Strange Candy_

**Summary: **On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

**Notes: **…Well, I'm very sorry for the delay in updating. I have now officially moved into residence, and getting internet access if very difficult, as the entire University of Windsor is going wireless. I don't _have_ a wireless card, so on top of purchasing $450 worth of books, I have to get a wireless card for my computer as well. Crap.

While I'm still figuring that out, I'm updating via school computers. They're nice computers. I wish I had a computer this nice. Thanks for all the lovely reviews, though, they kept me sane during this _very_ hectic few days. Week. Don't worry, I'm not losing my steam on this. My updates will just be a little farther apart. I should get writing now, you probably want to know what happens next…

**Disclaimer: **Consult previous chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Seven: Avalanche_

"Louis! What are you doing?"

April almost stumbled through the slush and snow as she bore down on her temporary partner. Louis stopped a few meters from the gate and turned around; something small clenched in his hand. When she closed to him, he tossed the object towards her and she caught it clumsily.

"Dispatch," he growled. "Don't forget, that while you're here, you're a field agent, on field call, doing field duty. I've already spoken to the detachment."

Her face flushed from both the temperature and his uncouth treatment of her status. "And?" she snapped.

"We're driving to Marisville. Three admissions at the hospital there had their stomachs pumped. Food poisoning. Why don't you take a stab at what they found in their stomach contents?"

The back of April's neck prickled. She glanced down at the thing in her hand and, seeing that it was the older agent's cell phone, threw it back. "Marisville. That's twenty-five miles down the road from here."

"Not far from home," he responded, turned, and began to walk towards the car.

"Wait," she said. He paused. April had folded her arms and was scrutinizing him with plain delicacy. "If these poisonings are related to the ones in Michigan, I'd understand why the detachment would want us there. But if they aren't positive that these two incidents are linked, why are they sending me? I'm an international agent of diplomacy, not local cop."

Louis tossed his arms exasperatedly and sauntered over to April's beat-up replacement car. "Yeah? Well, I am. And while we're not joined at the hips, we are at the badge. C'mon, there'll be plenty of time to whittle this guy down."

"And none of this seems strange to you?" she asked scornfully. "Willy Wonka is a mental case, not an idiot. Why would he distribute poisoned chocolate bars so close to his factory?"

"When will you stop asking questions and get in the car?" Louis growled back, gripping the top of the open car door in his hands tightly. He gestured hurriedly towards the car seat, indicating that she should enter the passenger side.

"Wait a minute, you're driving?" she asked, dropping her arms to her sides in disbelief. "This is _my_ car, or my rental anyway—you know what I mean. I drive."

Louis' eyebrows furled together in one, large grizzled clump. He sighed deeply. "Do _you_ know where Marisville is?"

Yes, April was very much beginning to dislike her new partner. _Truman_ _would never be such a smart-ass. Or at least, not act like he has a pinecone shoved up his—_

"Banks!"

April jumped, and regretted it a moment later. She grimaced her resentment, unable to find a way around his unjustifiable logic. With a bit more malice then she would have liked to let on, she strode over to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. There was only one was to resolve something of this caliber: act professional and _don't_ allow your true feelings to show.

"The brakes stick," she informed the older agent as he stepped into the driver's seat. He gave her a lengthy, knowing look before reaching to turn the key in the transmission.

The trip to Marisville was long and silent.

* * *

"…and if Charlie is ever going to learn how to be a successful chocolatier like me, _something_ must be done about those horrible lawyer people!"

The Oompa Loompa peered over his glasses and wrote something on his tiny notepad. Without any incitation on his part, Willy continued on his tirade of reasoning and loops of doubt and inspiration that would naturally drive any human psychiatrist mad.

"I know," Mr. Wonka spurted and shot up on the small velvet bed. "I'll take Charlie with me to South America! Yeah! I'll bet by the time we get back, everything will be back to normal. It's the perfect plan!" His face faltered a little. "Is it?"

The bespectacled Oompa Loompa made a stern face and tapped his pencil on the top of his notepad in a meaningful way. However alien the gesture was to anyone else, Mr. Wonka immediately caught on to his psychiatrist's intent.

"Oh," he said disappointedly, lying back in his chair. "I forgot Charlie has school. Not to mention his poor mom and dad; it would be dreadful if the lawyer people started bothering them. And lawyers are terribly clever when it comes to tracking people. We'd be caught in two shakes of a Dunglehobber's tail."

Thus followed a short ruffling of paper as the Oompa Loompa flipped through his notes. He made a brief hand signal with the pen still gripped tightly in his fingers.

"Hey, you're right," said Willy, tensing again. "I _should_ talk to Charlie about it. Good Galoompa's, I haven't seen him in days! I'm ghastly at mentoring! A real chocolatier wouldn't be wasting his time worrying about a couple of meddlesome, well-dressed impostors. What's gotten into me?"

The chocolatier practically leapt onto his feet, causing a slight frown to pull at the Oompa Loompa's face. Willy snatched his velvet coat from the back of the chair, threw it on, took his cane in one hand and rushed for the tiny door at the opposite end of the hall.

After the fiasco that occurred a few nights ago, Mr. Wonka had taken it into his personal agenda to research what these 'FBI' agents were, where they came from, what they did, and why 'guns' were so darn frightening. What he had found startled him. Now, he knew all about some kinds of weapons, and knew that it was simply the best thing to do to avoid them.

Guns, however, were an entirely new chapter to him. They killed! Oh, sure, Willy knew what death was. He knew that when an Oompa Loompa became a certain age, he or she died. There was no denying that he, Willy Wonka, was not a young chocolatier and that some day, he would—

And Charlie! Willy flinched at the notion. If only he hadn't been so careless! Poor Charlie was putting himself in the direst of dangers to protect him, and what a mess! Willy had rarely ever thought to bother learning more about the outside world in the past. There was just too much to be done in the factory. Oh, but if he _had_! Charlie would not have endangered himself like that; no, he would not have allowed it.

The pleasant aroma of warm chocolate and sweet candy washed over him as he stepped into the Chocolate Room. It reminded him over how much the factory meant, not only to him, but to little Charlie as well. Suddenly, it was clear. Willy Wonka would go to any length to ensure that he carried out his promise to the aspiring young boy, come Hopglumps or high water.

Willy stalked towards the house, occasionally utilizing his cane to keep his balance over the knolls of edible grass. Ever since he'd had that darned headset removed and his braces taken out, doing all those tricky stunts such as climbing steps and navigating tricky terrains, he'd had a horrible time with his balance. Now whenever he heard the expression "Dentistry is all in the teeth" he felt like giving someone a good kick in the teeth.

He stopped just in front of the Buckets' door and rapped on it with the swirled top of his cane. And he waited.

After an unusually long moment, a cracked voice called from the inside, "Come in, Mr. Wonka."

Willy stiffened in alarm; not because the Bucket who had invited him in used his name, of course, but because that said Bucket was _not_ Mister or Missus Bucket! If he was not mistaken, that was—

The door clicked and swung open, and there stood Grandpa Joe, a long forlorn expression bothering his face. "You'd better come in, Mr. Wonka. Charlie wants to see you."

Mr. Wonka froze in place, unable to uproot his feet from the ground. That was most certainly not a _happy_ 'Charlie wants to see you, Mr. Wonka'; it was definitely, absolutely positively a bad greeting! For a moment, all he could do was stare and shift his cane back and forth between his hands. Then, in a spur of panic, he swept past Grandpa Joe and entered the house.

Both Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina were lying in bed, their quiet expressions unreadable. Georgina seemed to be struggling to smile, for whatever reason was unknown. Willy stopped and his gaze slowly traveled downwards. Charlie sat at the small table, his quiet brown eyes trained on the miniature model of the factory he'd made from broken toothpaste lids.

Willy squirmed a little and his brows furled anxiously. "Charlie?"

Charlie didn't look up, but stared unblinkingly. "Hi, Mr. Wonka."

"My dear boy, whatever's wrong?" Mr. Wonka wanted to know.

Slowly, Charlie took his eyes off the model and looked up at the puzzled chocolatier without saying a word. Then he stood up, looked away, and ran. In a moment, he disappeared up the ladder to his room and slammed the door.

Mr. Wonka could only gape, bewildered and drastically upset over Charlie's reaction to him. Without meaning to, he blinked and felt the edges of his eyes watering. Quickly, he squinted them a few times and whirled around on Grandpa Joe. "What's going on? Where's Mister and Missus Bucket? What's wrong with Charlie?"

"Mr. Wonka, those are all very difficult questions," Joe replied defensively. Gingerly, he moved over to the side of the bed and looked up at the second floor, where Charlie was currently ignoring them. "Perhaps…you should sit down, and I'll tell you all about it."

Willy did so mindlessly, unaware that his choice of seating happened to be the Buckets' only table. He reached up and removed his top hat; a habit that he adapted every time he entered the Buckets house. He rested his cane on his lap, wringing his hands on either end of it impatiently.

Granpa Joe sighed and gave the chocolatier a look before he spoke. "Sarah is very ill, Mr. Wonka. She went to the hospital yesterday morning and she's going to have her baby much earlier than anyone ever expected."

"_What_?" Mr. Wonka leapt to his feet. He bashed his head painfully against a low beam on the ceiling and yelped. "Yow! 'Kay, I'm okay, just tell me where it is and I'll go straight away! Hospitals are very scary places, you know, and I don't want her to-"

"Mr. Wonka, Mr. Wonka, it's all right," Grandpa insisted urgently, patting the chocolatier on the arm. "John is with here right now. You should be worried about Charlie, I think. He's very upset about it and he won't talk speak to anyone anymore. I'm afraid he's cross with you. You've been gone for some days now, Mr. Wonka."

The realization of what his absence signified washed over him like a tidal wave. Willy sat down again, only this time much more slowly. He wore a pale, ghostly face of confusion. "Yeah," he said a little sadly. "Gee, I can't believe that all happened when I was gone. Is…is Charlie's mom going to be…'kay?"

The lines on Grandpa Joe's face deepened with concern. "I don't know," he said softly. "We won't know until the baby is born. Charlie wanted to go too, but he stayed behind, just so he could wait for you. But you never came…"

If someone had taken Willy's heart, trodden upon it, set it aflame and replaced it with a handful of salt, it still would not have hurt as much as the guilt _that_ brought on. Miserably, he lifted his gaze to look at Grandpa Joe. "You must really not like me, huh…" He rose to his feet unsteadily and groped for his hat, found it, and put it back on. "Then I…I guess I should just…go, I guess. Ch-Charlie?"

A small shadow seen beneath the cracked, dry boards of Charlie's wall moved, implying that the boy was listening. But Charlie did not respond, however, and Mr. Wonka cringed inwardly.

"It's okay. You can be mad at me. I deserve it," said the chocolatier briskly, meaning every word of it. "I'm going to see how your mom is doing, 'kay? I think she'd really like it if you came, too. You don't have to talk to me or anything, but please come, please do. You always said f-f…family should stick together, right?"

A very long silence followed thereafter, in which all of Willy's hopes dwindled to a cold, sickly feeling in his stomach. Numbly, he looked down and at the tops of his hands, which rest on top of his cane.

"You said it."

Mr. Wonka's head shot up again at the sound of Charlie's voice. The boy's eyes and nose appeared in the space below his wall. He was looking at Willy. "You said it, Mr. Wonka. Family."

He did! He hadn't even realized it, but he'd said that blasted word he'd never been able to say since he'd left home! Warmth rushed throughout him when he suddenly understood what that meant.

"Hey, yeah!" Like so many times before, the chocolatier's mood went from sullen and serious to extremely energetic and happy. "I did say it, didn't I? Family. Family. P-Parents? Hey, I can say that, too! Isn't this great?"

And happened such a cold repose from Charlie after that that Willy almost squeaked. "And you know what that means?" he demanded with new authority. "We _have_ to go to the hospital now, Charlie! Did you know, whenever an Oompa Loompa has to leave their little Loompalings behind to go to work, they get so gosh-darned anxious that their hair turns green and they develop this horrible, itchy rash! We can't let that happen to you parents, by golly!"

Charlie shook his head vividly from below the old, cracked wall. He pushed himself to his feet, left the confines of his room, climbed down the ladder and came to stand before the chocolatier with a reluctant smile on his face. "No," he said with a business-like edge. "Definitely not."

"Wonderful, then! We'd better hurry.

The boy's response came in the form of a stiff nod. But Mr. Wonka was no longer looking at Charlie. He was staring absently at the far window with a tremendously wistful look upon his face.

In the odd chocolatier's mind, a great deal more was taking place…

* * *

_The light on the wall was dimmed, making it difficult to see the bed or the woman in it. She was lying, propped against a mound of white pillows under the glow of the single lamp. Her hair lay damp and matted against her temples; a few strands stuck to her face. Although her eyes were closed, her breathing was irregular and her eyes twitched beneath the restless lids._

_A man entered the room behind Willy and shut the door with a gentle click. A moment later, Willy felt someone place a heavy hand on his shoulder._

_"She's very sick," said the bass, brusque voice. "We're going now. Say goodbye."_

_"But-" the boy began to protest, twisting his head around to look up at his father. _

_Dr. Wonka's grip on his shoulder tightened. "Don't argue with me, Willy. Your mother needs her rest, and you do yours. You have school tomorrow."_

_"Will…"_

_Willy's head jerked back to his mother. Her deep violet eyes were open and staring directly at the grim-faced Dr. Wonka with such animosity, it was hard to believe they had once been married. Then she smiled as her gaze passed to Willy._

_"It's okay. I was just resting my eyes," she said with what was left her frail voice. "Wilbur, I want to speak to Willy. Just Willy."_

_The fierce grip on Willy's shoulder was released, much to his concealed relief. Although he couldn't see his father's face, he knew that he was in trouble, and there would probably be yet another lecture tonight on the responsibilities of a sole parent and how much of an indecent his mother was. He didn't care. Willy didn't believe any of it, anyway, just as he didn't believe that candy would make him sick._

_Dr. Wonka closed the door a little less gently when he left the room, leaving Willy alone with his mother. He really wanted to be able smile, but his headgear and the straps made it impossible. Instead, he moved to the edge of the bed and held out his hand. His mother took it and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then, as if that endeavor had drained the last of her strength, her arm slid back to the bed. _

_"You've grown so much," she said dreamily. "Oh, Willy, does he make you wear that ghastly contraption all the time?"_

_Willy glanced down and shook his head. "No," he said. "I get to take it off for bed and whenever I get my picture taken. Mom?"_

_"Yes, love?"_

_"Are you going to be okay?"_

_The look she gave him then was so tender that Willy just wanted to break down crying and curl up into a small ball. He'd never been able to hug her before, ever, because she was too sick and frail and she might get hurt if he did. Just like he was never allowed to have chocolate. It wasn't fair. _

_"Willy," she said softly, reaching very carefully to cup her hand over his. "I'm going to tell you a secret, okay? Promise you won't tell anybody else, not even your Dad."_

_He nodded eagerly. He'd do anything!_

_"Do you know what will happen if…if I don't get better?" she asked, as if selecting her words very carefully. _

_Willy shook his head this time. He was eight, and there was no television set at home. His father never read the paper, and none of the kids at school had sick parents. Every time he asked his dad about his mother, he would just grunt and return to whatever task he was currently doing._

_His mother sighed. "Willy, I love you. But if by some chance I never _do_ get better, I will have to go to sleep. You can't see me after that happens."_

_Fear seized him. Willy jolted and looked at her anxiously. "Why? I could see you after you wake up. You don't want to see me anymore?"_

_"Oh, Willy, of course I do!" Her voice croaked and her eyes were glassy now. "But this is a different kind of sleep, love. Being sick makes someone very, very tired. I'll be too tired to wake up, even if I really wanted to."_

_"But you'll get better!" he exclaimed, gripping the loose bed sheets in his hands. "You can't go to sleep, Mom, you can't!"_

_"I have to, Willy," she whispered. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. "I have to go to sleep. But I will always, _always_ love you. Don't forget that, okay?"_

_Willy stared downwards with a scrunched expression. He didn't say anything._

_His mother squeezed his hand again, and he looked up. _

_"Okay?" she said again. _

_He sobbed once and nodded. "…'kay."_

* * *

"Mr. Wonka!"

He jumped out of his empty daze and realized that both Charlie and Grandpa Joe were staring at him strangely. Willy opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it. The hurtful memory was still fresh in his mind. Suddenly, he didn't think that going to the hospital would be such a good idea.

"Flashback again?" Charlie wanted to know. The usual lightheartedness was gone from his voice.

Mr. Wonka nodded very slightly with a grim smile. "Yeah. Sort of. Shall we?"

Charlie made to lurch after the chocolatier when he turned to leave, but Grandpa Joe caught his arm kindly. They watched Mr. Wonka disappear through the crooked door and stood for another moment in gloomy silence. Then Grandpa Joe gave Charlie a quick, but reassuring hug.

"It'll be all right, Charlie. You'll see," he said with a spark of enthusiasm. "Go with Mr. Wonka. Tell us all about it when you and your mom get back."

His encouragement worked. A foreboding weight lifted from Charlie's shoulders a moment later, and he abruptly felt as if he could take on a whole army of Snozwangers. "Thanks, Grandpa," he said. Not daring to wait a moment longer, he dashed out the door to catch up with Mr. Wonka.

* * *

**Funny Word Glossary**

_Dunglehobber_- A small, furry rodent the size of a field mouse found exclusively in Loompaland. They are often kept as pets by the Oompa Loompas.

_Galoompa_- What Oompa Loompa's usually label other humans. (translated as 'Big Loompa')

_Hopglump_- A bizarre creature that resembles a very fat frog, only the size of a large dog and is covered in bumpy brown skin. Harmless, as they consume ground moss through the hundreds of little teeth on it's throat. Named after it's peculiar method of travel: hopping about on three enormous back legs.

* * *

_Sneak Peek:_ Renewed hope and the reason why some FBI agents should never be trusted. 


	8. Multiple Disguises

_Strange Candy_

**Summary: **On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

**Notes: **You'll have to forgive me for the way I make Mr. Wonka seem so entirely juvenile in the coming chapters. It just seems to me that, while becoming so fixated with his chocolate and candy, that he wouldn't have had a lot of time to learn things most other people would learn in their lifetimes, especially since he spent most of his life shut off from the world. You'll see what I mean later.

Good old reviews. HoVis, you'll see soon enough. Thanks! Kokira…thanks, the Funny Word Glossary is supposed to be useful, too. You're about to find out, Cholate14…. Awwww…(hands Artoveli a tissue) Sorry! Uh…me. Here ya go. (hands over the chapter) Valerie, of course you can! You're reading it now, right? Hehe. Lynx Ryder, I do believe I will never get tired of hearing (er, reading) you yell at the characters even though they can't hear you. Hee hee! I know, isn't Galoompa a funny word? Thanks for the review, Drazzles. Moonbean…good prediction, but I do believe you'll find it's a bit different than that…

**Disclaimer: **Consult previous chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Eight: Multiple Disguises_

The man standing just on the corner of the alley was not a kindly man. Nor was he the sort that normally took to the streets, but then of course, this was a matter that he trusted to no one else. Even though it was cold, and the chewed-up jacket he wore was nothing more than the remnants of something that was once good, he was warmed by the very idea that brought him here in the first place.

He brought his chilled fingers to his lips and breathed, willing the warm air to take the frostbite out of them. How much longer must he wait? It had taken so long to scrounge up the money – and only then, he'd had just barely enough to get him by another week while he waited for an update from his "aid".

The bells on the convenience shop's door jangled merrily, and a man stepped out into the frozen slush. He strolled lazily towards the other man, pulling a cigarette from the pack he had just bought and a lighter out of the same pocket. He lit it as he came to stop beside the bum.

As he did, the light from a nearby post illuminated his face. He was a middle-aged, plump, balding man. There was a professional glint behind his eye.

"S-So?" stammered the first man, trying not to wrinkle his nose as a cloud of tobacco wafted under his nose. "What did you find out?"

The balding man grunted with amusement and grit his teeth around the cigarette. "That your man is one hell of a hard fish to catch, Mr. Salt."

The other flinched at that and he averted his eyes, trembling from the cold. "Don't talk so loud," he muttered, cursing the very snow under his feet. "I don't want anyone knowing-"

A cold, cynical laugh cut him off and the balding man coughed a few times before regaining his voice. "What? How could a man like you be possibly be worried about what _they_ think?" he demanded gruffly, sweeping towards the street with a gloved hand. "They're more like you than you know. Every single one of them."

Mr. Salt glanced over his shoulder nervously. "What about…the woman?"

The man's eyes snapped to him. "She's taken care of. After tonight, there won't even be an April Banks. Not that she's any of your business."

"And…what about…_him_?"

"Who? The boy or the nutcase?"

Again, Mr. Salt flinched. "You know what I mean."

"Sure, we all live in that fantasy world," the balding man grunted. "As for your question…not yet. Let me work it a little more. There's a…few obstacles that need to be taken care of first."

"And then?"

Again, the balding man coughed. He dropped his cigarette into the snow. "It's payday."

* * *

It was Saturday. The hospital was busier than it was on any other day of the week, especially now that the weather had turned bitter and infections were spreading all across town from unattended sniffles and coughs. Even though Charlie prayed with all his hope and might, the sight of a packed parking lot was all he was granted when the elevator sped towards the Emergency entrance.

Charlie was a knot of emotions. Mostly, he felt sick inside, both anxious and excited at the same time. He also felt disappointed. It had already been five days since the incident with the chocolate river, and still no sign of Oswald. He hadn't even grown used to the ferret yet, and now he was gone, maybe forever. Somehow, the little furry body against his neck was a great comfort. Without it, the worst of his fears got the better of him…

The door to the elevator opened as it landed, letting in a jet of cold air. Mr. Wonka stepped out into the snow first, testing the snow banks with his cane for their depth. He began to wade through them with a taught expression; Charlie followed in close tow, making sure to step in Mr. Wonka's tracks to prevent his pants from getting ice on them.

People streamed in and out of the rotating doors to the entrance. Mr. Wonka jumped and reeled away from a couple as they shoved their way past him, one of them limping noticeably. He turned to Charlie, who just shrugged. Eyes widened, the chocolatier turned stiffly towards the building again and started off.

Luck seemed to approve of them, at least. Despite the fact that the waiting room was jam packed with all kinds of sniffling, moaning, grumbling persons, there was no line for the front desk. The couple that had nearly toppled Mr. Wonka were just sitting down, looking rather disgusted by their surroundings. As Charlie and the chocolatier neared the desk, a middle-aged woman looked up impassively.

"Are you registering, or visiting?" she drawled.

Charlie, who found the nurse almost familiar, placed his hands on the counter. "Just visiting," he replied. "My mom-"

"Room?" the nurse interrupted.

Rather shocked by her bluntness, Charlie stuttered, "I…I don't know the room number. It happened just today. If you could-"

The flat-faced woman raised a hand. "Fine. What is the patient's name?"

It was right about then that Willy, who had been pondering the most puzzling of expressions for the past minute or two, finally recognized the nurse. "Hey, I know you!" he exclaimed suddenly. "You're that unpleasant waitress lady from the diner Charlie and I went to! I would recognize that ghastly perfume anywhere. My grandmother used to wear it."

It was indeed the same 'waitress lady' Mr. Wonka referred to, and she looked ever the more unpleasant than he narrated. Her long lashes blinked slowly and she seemed to study them with the intensity of a viper.

"But if you're a nurse, why were you working at the diner?" Charlie wondered, now realizing why the nurse had seemed so familiar.

"I got laid off," she replied firmly. "That was my temporary, higher paying job. Look, do you know you mother's name or not? If not, amscray."

"Sorry," Charlie apologized fervently. "Her name is Sarah Bucket. She's supposed to be having a baby."

The nurse raised an eyebrow. "Oh, that one," she said drearily. "Third floor, third hallway to the right, room three forty-four. Here's your visitor badges; don't take them off. And dear," she went on, leaning forward slightly. "Don't worry about it. Your mother is just fine. I see this thing _all_ the time."

Charlie was slightly taken aback by her sudden change of attitude. A smile automatically lit up his face. He thanked her quickly, took the visitor's passes and started towards the elevators. Mr. Wonka walked briskly after him, nearly crashing into a wheelchair in the process.

"So? Which do you think it is?" quipped the chocolatier as they passed a row of medicine carts.

"Which what?" said Charlie, handing Mr. Wonka the second badge. The chocolatier took it, examined it with a repulsed grimace and tidily fastened it to his dark blue, velvet jacket. Charlie had learned long ago that Mr. Wonka hoarded hundreds of different colored suits of the same design. Right now, he wore a plain black top hat, as his usual one "simply didn't fit" the color he wore.

Mr. Wonka grinned broadly. "Your little brother, of course." He paused. "Or sister. Or maybe both. I don't know."

Charlie looked at him as they stopped to wait for the elevator. "Both?"

"Twins," chirped Mr. Wonka. "You know, one boy, one girl. Two more mouths to feed. Twice the candy. Gosh darn, I'd forgot about that! Guess I'd better start making more. Hey, I wonder if babies like candy?"

Charlie laughed, despite the gloom of the situation. "I don't think babies can eat candy. You'll have to wait until they get older."

This clearly fretted Mr. Wonka, for he stood for a moment with a slightly agape mouth. "How much older?"

The boy shrugged, just as the stainless steel door in front of them slid open and revealed the empty elevator. "I'm not sure. Whenever he or she isn't a baby anymore."

Mr. Wonka watched as Charlie climbed into the tiny little lift and paused. "Oh," he said, and followed his heir into the elevator. A few people, a doctor and a nurse passed by the open door as they stood in silence. Then the door closed and the elevator lurched into motion. The time seemed to creep by as they slowly ascended to the second floor. There, the elevator stopped and the door slid open again.

A little elderly woman in a pale green hospital robe, large spectacles and a short cane started to enter the lift. However, she seemed to be attached to a vertical metal pole; a bag of clear liquid hung from the rack at the top of it. She struggled to lift the contraption over the metal rim that separated the floor and the elevator. The small wheels kept on snagging on the steel lip, which she did not appear to realize was happening. Concerned, Charlie lurched forward to put his hand over the door before it could shut on the poor lady.

Then Mr. Wonka did something that baffled him. The chocolatier, a kindly look set upon his pale face, reached forward and carefully aided the old woman over the troublesome obstacle. She, with a smile that caused her face to wrinkle fiercely, hobbled the rest of the way onto the elevator with the pole rolling beside her.

"Thank you, young man," she rasped, beaming up at him. "You young folk are all so kind. Are you a doctor?"

The chocolatier giggled as the elevator began to ascend again. "Dear me, of course not! Are you looking for one?"

She nodded, still smiling wistfully. "Yes. His name is Dr. Freeman."

"Really?" said Mr. Wonka in the kind of tone that burst with such cheerfulness, many would consider it to be fake. But Mr. Wonka was _never_ fake. "Well, I do hope you find him."

Charlie had to hide a grin behind his hand. Mr. Wonka didn't seem to notice that the old woman was slightly batty, but then again, Mr. Wonka was always a little batty himself. At least, in a good way. Not the actual clinically batty way.

The old lady was still gazing at the chocolatier. Mr. Wonka, who was trying his best to stare straight ahead, glanced sideways at her, betraying a little edginess.

But she only went on smiling. "You have nice clothes," she said.

"Thank you," said Willy cheerfully. "Yours are very…" He looked over the hospital gown and grappled to smile again. "Green," he finished.

Right then, the elevator opened yet again to reveal a woman and a man, both in white coats. Immediately, their eyes fell on the elderly lady and one of them reached forward. The male doctor gently helped the patient out of the lift and aided her down the hallway with the second doctor in close tow. The old lady looked up at the man as she was led away and asked naively, "Are you Dr. Freeman?"

"Look," said Charlie as they stepped out of the elevator, pointing to the door across the lounge. "That's Room three-oh-one. That must be the way."

"Really?" remarked Mr. Wonka with a slight skewing of his eyebrows. "You know, none of this hospital stuff makes sense to me."

"Because the Oompa Loompa's help you if you get hurt?" wondered Charlie, looking up at his mentor.

"Nope, because I never get hurt," Wonka beamed. "And that, my dear boy, is why safety is so important when it comes to making chocolate. Being safe is key when it comes to machinery, I always say."

Charlie was trying to hang onto Mr. Wonka's words, but he found himself constantly distracted by the urge to make a run for the hallway on the right. After a moment's hesitation, he tugged on the chocolatier's sleeve. "Let's go, Mr. Wonka."

That was all. "_Let's go, Mr. Wonka"_ was all he could think of to condense every ounce of his impatience to see his mother. The hospital noise rattled on in the background and people sidestepped to avoid them with odd, degrading glances from the vertices of their eyes. A troublesome silence broke between the two, but it was obvious that Willy was not offended in the slightest. On the contrary. He was actually feeling rather…foolish for have becoming so abstracted.

"Fizzing Fizz Buttons, that's right!" he quipped, tapping his cane on the ground. "Hurry up, Charlie, there's not another moment to spare! There's a brand new Bucket to meet!"

Nothing at all could prevent Willy Wonka from charging into the kinds of things he _should_ avoid, like bad situations, glass elevator doors, and busy hospital lounges. The latter was not so serious an episode, but there were always a select few occasions where something just wasn't quite right. And when a hospital lounge has a TV where select special Oompa Loompas have not censored select special types of programming for the greater good of their employer, there happens to be something _very_ dangerous about the hospital lounge in question.

It was one of those kinds of lounges where everything was just maintained enough to ward off complaints. There were several, cheap couches surrounding a single television set; its screen was facing towards the elevator. The room was packed with people transfixed on the small, electronic box.

Mr. Wonka stalked right past one of the couches without a glance backwards, but something peculiar caught his eye. He stopped very suddenly. Charlie nearly crashed into him from behind and stumbled back, startled. Willy's head turned ever so slowly towards the screen of the TV. His body was completely rigid.

The channel had been set to the local pop music station. A music video was currently flashing across the screen—one of those dramatic punk-rock types where everything happens in slow-mo and no one understands the lyrics. The song was about war.

Soldiers in tan-and-brown army uniforms threw themselves into the sand, the barrels of their automatics illuminated by the sparks erupting from the tips. Men paused dramatically before their bodies were riddled with bullets. Corpses dropped everywhere, and the Americans advanced.

The screen simulated this chaos until the song came to an end. Mr. Wonka stood, hypnotized by the rather bewildering scene he had just experienced. He felt confused, but not because he did not understand the video, but because he could not believe that this could possibly be. Fear immobilized him, blanching his already pale cheeks whiter than dry cotton.

Those people were…dead! Why had those other men shot them? He had known, but could not possibly accept that guns made people die. If guns could kill people, then could it possibly be that…sick people, they—

No! It was utterly preposterous! Why would his mom lie to him like that? When people got sick, they went to sleep. Yes, that's right. People who grow old die. People who get shot die, but sick people, they…they just go to sleep.

Sleep and death. Willy shuddered with illusory cold. Could death just be sleep? Was it possible that, because she was afraid, his mom had lied?

Charlie realized what upset Mr. Wonka after he followed his intense gaze towards the TV. At first, it didn't occur to him that the chocolatier might not have understood what was on the screen. Then he remembered the misunderstanding by the chocolate river, Mr. Wonka's ignorance of guns and warfare, and he noticed—

"Mr. Wonka, don't look!" he cried, seizing his mentor's sleeve and tugging on it fiercely. The chocolaiter stood like a manikin, unaware that the boy was even there.

Again and again, Charlie tried to revert Mr. Wonka's attention. But there was no hope of it until the song ended and the next video began. After a painful moment, the chocolatier directed his eyes on Charlie.

"'Kay…" he said at last, as if the effort took an entire breath. "Let's…keep truckin'."

Charlie gaped at the chocolatier as he turned his blue velvet back and began to walk briskly towards the far end of the lounge. In a mad dash, the boy caught up with him and pleaded.

"Wait, Mr. Wonka, I can explain-" he started anxiously.

"No, it's okay, I already understand," Willy butt in, planting his feet heavily with every step. "After all, we learn something useful every day." Suddenly, he slowed and eventually came to a stop in the middle of the hall. He rounded on Charlie and crouched to his eye-level. "You did something very dangerous, Charlie."

For a moment, Charlie didn't understand. A moment of uneasy silence passed, before he realized Mr. Wonka was referring to run-in with the FBI agents. He lowered his eyes to the floor. He hadn't thought it that big a deal, but perhaps it only seemed that way because Mr. Wonka hadn't known exactly what he'd done…

"Hey! Eyes up, chocolate boy!" Willy quipped with no trace of strictness. Charlie jolted his gaze to Mr. Wonka's face. "Promise me that won't happen again, 'kay? If I'd known for just a second what could've happened to you!"

Charlie's shoulder's tensed and he began to protest, "But Mr. Wonka, they were-"

"Baloney! Were, weren't, wasn't, was, Wonzabees!" snapped Mr. Wonka, drawing a few strange looks from the hall inhabitants. "I know terrible peril when I see it, Charlie, and that mean lawyer could've…could've…gosh darn, I can't even say it!"

The hurt in the chocolatier's voice pricked at Charlie's heart. He hadn't even thought about how Mr. Wonka would react to his…apparently brash act. Even so, he felt an overwhelming need to justify himself. "He was going to hurt you, Mr. Wonka."

"Maybe. But that's no reason to scare the bejeebers out of me!" Willy reasoned, and pressed his lips into a thin line. "C'mon, stop dawdling and promise me already! Please?"

Seeing no other alternative, and compelled by the urgency Mr. Wonka displayed, Charlie nodded his head reluctantly. "All right, then. I promise. I'm sorry."

Yet oddly, the chocolatier didn't look at all convinced. He lifted a corner of his lips quirkily before extending one of his arms out in front of him, his little finger raised in a peculiar manner. "Pinky swear on it?"

Charlie hooked his pinky finger around the chocolatier's and they shook, sealing Charlie's solemn vow to never put himself in danger again. Or so Willy thought. He stood up with a genuine smile, ruffled his heir's hair, and tried to look cheerful. "Well, then! We've delayed, we've dallied, and now we _must_ depart! Are you excited?"

Still a little troubled over Mr. Wonka's concern for him, Charlie sighed. "I sure am."

And he was.

* * *

The light on the wall was dimmed, making it difficult to see the bed or the woman in it. She was lying, propped against a mound of white pillows under the glow of the single lamp. Her hair was slightly damp, but a few hours of relaxation had returned her t her usual colour. Although her eyes were closed, her breathing was still regular and her hand was gripping another for comfort as she rested her body.

Mr. Bucket sat in the vinyl chair beside his wife's bed. The door creaked open, and Charlie appeared in the doorway.

A man entered the room behind Charlie, and shut the door with a gently click. For a moment, Charlie just stood and gazed at his parents. Then Mr. Bucket smiled a comforting smile, and beckoned with his free hand.

"Come over here, Charlie," he said softly. When Charlie moved forward and Willy did not, Mr. Bucket gestured again, even more insistently. "And you too. You're very well part of this family as I am."

The chocolatier struggled to grin nervously and edged forward, giving the bed and its occupant a distant, almost raw look of unease. This room was incredibly, oddly familiar. Even the smell seemed memorable. Generally, when Mr. Wonka remembered things, they were not pleasant things.

"Everything went smoothly," Mr. Bucket explained to his unblinking son, as if not quite believing it himself. "But she is very tired, and she needs her rest."

"Charlie…?"

Charlie's jerked to his mother. Her deep brown eyes were open and staring directly at the gentle-faced Mr. Bucket with such tenderness, it was very clear why they had married. Then she smiled as her gaze passed on to Charlie.

"Sorry…I'm a bit tired," she said with a laugh. She looked towards Mr. Wonka briefly. "Good, the both of you are here. I was worried you couldn't make it, Mr. Wonka."

When addressed, the violet eyes of the chocolatier dropped to the floor and just the barest of red tinges dusted his cheeks. "And miss out on all the excitement? No way!"

"Mom, are you all right?" Charlie wanted to know suddenly.

Mrs. Bucket nodded and reached out to touch his cheek. "I'm just fine, Charlie. And so is your new baby brother."

Charlie's face lit up and an excited grin possessed his face. He glanced over at Mr. Wonka, who had his hands resting on top of his cane. The chocolatier's expression clearly read, "Told you so."

"What's his name?" said Charlie.

"Daniel," said Mr. Bucket. "I promise you'll have plenty of time to get to know him. Right now, your mother is going to sleep. And you're going back to factory to do the same."

Mr. Wonka was intent on staring at the far wall. The last bits of memory finally came together, and the reason for the room's familiarity abruptly came clear. This _was_ the room his mother had lived in, slept in, for nearly three years before she…

_Fell asleep_.

Despite Charlie's protests, Mr. Bucket was resolute in his decision to send him home. The hospital only allowed one visitor to stay overnight, anyway. Charlie's father gave Mr. Wonka meaningful look. "Would you mind taking Charlie with you back to the factory?"

Willy's mouth twitched, but he betrayed none of his thoughts. "Of course I don't! I mean, wouldn't," he said brightly. "G'night, Mrs. B! Coming, Charlie?"

Charlie gripped the end of the bed in earnest. "Are you coming home tomorrow?"

"Bright and early," promised Mrs. Bucket. "Good night, Charlie. And Charlie--"

"Yes?"

"_No_ candy or chocolate before bed."

"I won't."

Before they left, Willy paused just inside the door of the room. He turned around haltingly to look at the bed – and Mrs. B in it. Both of Charlie's parents smiled warmly at him, and though he tried to return it, it was scarcely the ghost of a true smile. This room smelt…just like her.

"Mrs. B?" he said tentatively.

"Yes, Mr. Wonka?"

Willy's pretend smile faded, and he even looked a little…sad. "Don't…sleep too long, 'kay?"

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket were left staring at an empty doorway, wondering for the world what had just taken place.

* * *

**Funny Word Glossary **

_Fizzing Fizz Buttons_ – a kind of candy that, when placed in the mouth, immediately warms up, melts and becomes fizzy. Kind of like warm soda, but better.

_Wonzabees­ _– Mr. Wonka has to get his honey-syrup from somewhere, doesn't he?

* * *

_Sneak Peek: _A nighttime visitation, a rather embarrassing moment, and a great homecoming for more than just Charlie's parents. 


	9. How Gallant the Knight

_Strange Candy_

**Summary: **On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

**Notes: **I have several important things to say. Here they are:

1) Through no intervention of mine, I am now destined to dress up as Willy Wonka for Halloween. My friend is going to be Veruca Salt (she bears quite the striking resemblance). Yes, I know I am female. Apparently, this is not a factor. Huh. Should be fun, if not expensive…  
2) It _was_ Green Day, Kokira. I didn't think anyone would get that, especially after I disguised it. And I've seen Corpse Bride, too. I love it…especially the music.  
3) Thanks, Artoveli. Yes, he is. And, well…you'll know Veruca's involvement soon enough.  
4) Ahh…you caught onto that, Lady of Light. Wow, someone thinks I'm clever! I'm a typo-freak, you know. I'll look into fixing those after I get this chapter up. Please tell me if you find any more!  
5) Dear lord, this is a lot of reviews.  
6) Linzy, you have supplied me with the most creative use of the words licorice and fox-money that I've ever read. I can tell you're also a writer, because you're very accurate in the way you describe the relationship between Mr. Wonka's "wonder world" and the cold, hard reality of the FBI agents. It's intentional. (And sorry…if it irks your, you're going to hate this chapter.) I love to contrast; it's in my nature…sorry? Again? And don't be wary! Heh, there's a reason the genre of this story isn't romance. You'll find Mr. Wonka's and April's relationship a little…erm…different than the norm. For every bit of fluff you find, you may kill me. Promise.  
7) You're right, Laseri. My mistake. It's actually 'mum' and not 'mom', I'm just so used to the latter…. I'm no fan of Charlie/Wonka slash, either. Charlie, grown up or not, is and always will be, a kid to me. Thanks!  
8) Ah, praise be to ye, Trilliah! I was once in a very similar, disappointed state of mind. And I'm glad you consider my fanfic as a 'little gem'…the very reference makes me glow momentarily. I shall continue to do my utmost best to keep you riveted!  
9) SUPER LONG CHAPTER to keep you entertained and more-or-less sated about the fact that it took me forever to update.  
I promised myself I wouldn't do that…remember, I try to reply to all reviews, but only if I can think of something clever to say back. Or to make fun of you. Either way.

I also would like to announce a little forewarning tidbit. The genre of this story _is_ angst/suspense, and I'm holding true to that. The chapters hereon will get more serious. Not darker, exactly, but serious. And more bizarre. Mostly because I wrote this chapter while listening to Matthew Good's 'House of Smoke & Mirrors'. And praise Linzy, because she seems to caught onto the theme of the fanfic rather well…

**Disclaimer: **Consult previous chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Nine: How Gallant the Knight_

With the lights of the factory looming in the street ahead, Mr. Wonka stood motionlessly beside Charlie in the elevator. His eyes were not trained on the factory, however, but on the ground as they sped over rooftops and lampposts; the only sound of the night being the thrum of the engine that carried them so far above the ground. Charlie was as quiet as his lost ferret. What he seemed to be looking at slipped the chocolatier's mind.

In truth, Willy was not sure what he was looking for, either. Just…the city was so lifeless and boring. Half the reason he was so transfixed with it was the assumption that something must happen eventually. Did everyone really go to bed at the same time? Why were normal people so…so…weird?

From inside the elevator, a stillness stirred into an entirely different mood altogether. Surely Charlie was just excited about his new little brother. Or maybe he was bummed out about Oswald. Or maybe it was because Mrs. B wouldn't let him have any chocolate before bed.

It couldn't possibly be because of Mr. Wonka himself. Willy _had_ to make Charlie promise what he promised, or something dreadful could become of him in the future. Charlie was _his _heir after all, not the other way around. Little chocolatier came before big chocolatier. Rules of chocolatiering, of course!

Something had to be done about those lawyer people.

The thought occurred to him like a green-and-purple sunset at noon. It was preposterous. He was Willy Wonka, chocolate whiz extraordinaire, yet what could he possibly do against an entirely different country?

April Banks.

Oh, believe him, Mr. Wonka felt just as mutually about Agent Banks as she felt so strongly about him. Well…perhaps not so ruthless. She was just as icky and unmannered as Valerie Silts or Austin Glomp, or…or whoever the other two were! He had to get rid of her somehow, someway make her go back to the USA! It was just all so darned perplexing…

And then, as if some strange, invisible wish faerie had heard his plea, his violet gaze looked over spotted Miss April Banks herself on sidewalk below, staggering towards his factory. She was very nearly there too, but she was walking awfully funny…like he said, staggering. There was no one else out on the street – but her.

That was it! He had to talk to her alone, where no one could intrude! Maybe he could convince her that he was innocent. Surely if he just talked to her, she would see reason and go back to wherever it was she came from. That dreadful, bullying friend of hers, too. It could work. It _would_ work, he just had to—Mr. Wonka turned suddenly and prodded the 'stop' button on the vast panel beside him. The elevator jerked to a sudden stop in midair.

"Whoa!" cried Charlie, making his first sound since he'd left his mother's room. He fell against the glass wall after losing his balance. "Mr. Wonka, what's happening?"

"This is my stop, Charlie," quipped Mr. Wonka with a nervous laugh as the glass elevator began to descend towards the ground. "Listen, you go on ahead to the factory and I'll catch up, right after I take care of something of the utmost importance, 'kay?"

Charlie looked perturbed. "Why can't I come?"

Willy gave a derisive, but friendly enough snort. "Why don't dogs run backwards?"

When the boy realized that Mr. Wonka actually wanted an answer, he fumbled for one. And failed. "I…I don't know."

"Great. Neither do I." In a very pristine way, the chocolatier dabbed at the button that opened the elevator doors and stepped out onto the cold, windless street. "Make sure to tell the Oompa Loompas that I'm walking home, 'kay? I'll be back before you can say-"

"Mr. Wonka."

The violet eyes danced a little at Charlie's anxious tone. "Well, I was gonna say 'Snozberries', but yours sounds better."

"Mr. Wonka, you can't go," said his heir hesitantly.

"My dear boy, why ever not?" piped Willy, grinning.

At this, Charlie looked uneasy, as if trying to hide the fact that he was about to say something irrational. He glanced at his feet. "I'm not sure, I…just have a bad feeling, is all."

The attempt to be covert on the boy's behalf fell short of succeeding. Mr. Wonka peered down at him with the look of a patient teacher, the corners of his mouth upturned now in the slightest way.

"You promised me, Charlie," he said matter-of-factly. "You can't break a pinky-swear, you know. It's terrible back luck and goodness knows it takes lots and lots of _good_ luck to run a chocolate factory!"

Charlie's shoulders slumped, but he bowed his head respectfully. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, come on," the chocolatier said. "What could possibly go wrong? Now hurry along and remember what your mom said! No cabbage or broccoli before bed!"

A thin smile appeared on the boy's face and he gloomily pressed the button to shut the elevator door. Just before it sealed tight, he pressed himself against the class and said meaningfully, "Please be careful, Mr. Wonka!"

With that, the elevator rose to the sky, carrying the chocolatier's heir and hope with it. Mr. Wonka stood for another moment in mysterious silence. Slowly, broodingly, he whirled around and started down the empty street, dashed with billowing snow.

* * *

April stumbled down the sidewalk, nearly colliding with a snowbank in her clumsy mêlée to stay upright. She burst out laughing as her shoes slipped on a patch of ice and she fell flat on her rump. For a full minute, she simply sat on the cold concrete, giggling hysterically. Then, with more effort than most people would require, she lugged herself to her feet and continued her dangerously tipsy journey.

Three nights ago, she had all but given up persecuting that damned chocolate bastard. It was like trying to open a five-hundred-pound drawer with no handle to hold onto. And then, of course, the thought of a giant drawer covered in purple velvet flashed into her mind and she fell over again, choking back her laughter.

That was not all she was choking back, either. She still had her last drink of the night, a small bottle of spirits covered in brown paper, clutched in one hand. More than half of its contents had ended up on the sidewalk rather than her stomach, which was probably for the good. April Banks practically had alcohol pumping through her veins by now.

She was hammered.

But she didn't care. Last night, one of the victims of chocolate poisoning had slipped into a coma. It was all over the news, but the spineless media had refused to put the details of the sixteen-year-old girl's condition in the report. Including _why_ she had gone into a coma.

She was hammered, because she was a damned failure. That's right. A fucking drama-lacking, bottom-rung, low-down fiasco. She should have taken an easier case, like convicting the President for arson.

So April continued to hobble down the empty street, passing from one glowing lamppost to the other. She wasn't even aware of the hazy figure coming towards her at a brisk walk. Her blurry vision swept right past it. She stumbled on.

And suddenly, someone stood in front of her, blocking her path. Half-enraged, but mostly giddy, April stopped and snorted in laughter, lifting the bottle to her lips again. That giddiness all but faded, however, when she realized _who_ was blocking her way.

She groaned and gripped the spirits even tighter. "What the _hell_…" She nearly lost her balance…_again_, but someone managed to right herself and her dignity…or at least, what was left of it. "The _hell_…do _you_ want?"

"Ew," said the man of focus, bringing the back of a violet-tinged hand against his nose. "You smell worse than spoiled chocolate when it grows all that white mold and starts putrefying."

April's cheeks grew hot with irritation. "Is _that_ why you're here…?" she said, glowering. "To insult me? I know you'd just _love_ to kick dirt on me when I'm on the ground, wouldn't you?"

"Hmm," came the truly contemplative reply. Mr. Wonka showed an optimistic grin. "Can't say it didn't cross my mind," he said brightly.

"Wise guy," she said and swore. "Move outta my way. I'm busy."

As she shoved past him and staggered on, she heard him ask, "Doing what?"

She whirled around lazily, extending her booze hand high above her head in a graceless arch as she stumbled backwards. "Drinking," she said, giggling. "Wandering aimlessly. Drowning in the toxic waste of my own pathetic failure…what, hey!"

These last things she said in weak protest when Wonka grabbed her booze-less arm and pulled her off the sidewalk into a dimly lit alley. He didn't go far, however, but moved her out of the light of the streetlamps so that her back was to the alley wall.

At first, April's first reaction was to hit him, but when he made no threatening moves towards her, she sniggered instead. "You're not gonna frisk me, are you?"

"Uh, no," said the chocolatier in a repulsed, 'duh' kind of way. "And even though I shouldn't be nice to you, I will be anyway, because that's what Charlie would do."

"Really. I'll believe that when I see it," she spat. "So what do you want? Money? My jewelry? Sex? There's a whole list of things I'm sure you'd love to get from me. "

To her surprise – though she hid it skillfully, despite her drunkness -- he looked rather confused by her accusation. Wonka made a tight-lipped expression. "No," he said in a slightly chagrined way. Then, because he could not help his overwhelming curiousity, he added, "What's sex?"

Which earned him a well-aimed snort. Unfortunately, April happened to have a mouthful of vodka at the moment and half of it escaped through her lips in a spray. Willy stood, quiet as a statue, and wiped the front of his coat in a casually disgusted manner.

"'Kay…never mind," he said distastefully.

"What do you _want_ already?" she groaned, slumping against the wall. "It's fucking ten-thirty at night, and you're saying you just happened to stop me for a friendly tête-à-tête?"

"You know, you're a _very_ unfriendly person, and my father always said that unfriendly people don't have any friends," the chocolatier remarked wittily. "Didya ever think of that?"

April eyeballed him with the approach of a snake towards a mouse. "Oh, this is rich. You want to be my _friend_? Mr. Wonka, you my not have noticed, but I'm an FBI agent. I've spent the past _week_ trying to pin your for attempted murder, fraud and child molestation – without _success_, might I add. My _partner_ pulled a gun on you. He nearly _shot_ you. I'm not your friend. I'm your worst nightmare."

At this, Willy snorted. "No you're not. My worst nightmare was about flying Hornglobbers. Believe me, compared to a full-grown Hornglobber, it's next to impossible to be scared of anything else."

"Really," was the lazy reply. She took another drink from the bottle, only to find that it was empty. She swore arrogantly and threw the bottle at the dumpster just across the alley. It smashed on the lid and clattered into the empty bottom of the container. "Look," she said, turning to him with a miserable expression. "I'm wasted. At this point, I don't care if you put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. You won, I lost. That's all she wrote." She pushed herself away from the wall.

"Wait." Mr. Wonka side-stepped in front of her before she could escape. "I just have…_one_…question," he said, holding up a finger to punctuate his request.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. "Ask," she groaned.

The chocolatier slowly dropped his arm to his side. "Do you really…I mean_ really_ really, honestly, not-even-slightly-doubtful, deep-down, wholly and truly believe all that bad stuff about me?"

It was not, in a way, at all the kind of question she would have expected from him. It was bad enough he was being too much of a prick that he wouldn't laugh at her or flaunt his victory (she would have very much preferred that over this false, morale façade), but now he was pretending cordiality, too? But then, it was a fair enough question. She wasn't even sure if she could give a straight answer.

April sighed and placed a hand on her forehead, with her eyes closed in concentration. After a moment, she opened them again. "Mr. Wonka-"

She felt the cold steel on the back of her neck before she heard the click of a gun being cocked. A restless, gravelly voice spoke from behind. "Don't move, or I'll blow your goddamned head off."

A surge of panic rose in her throat, mixed with anger and surprise, but was cooled almost immediately by her many well-trained years of agent experience. Her eyes darted accusingly towards Mr. Wonka, thinking that _he_ had somehow arranged this. It did not take long to realize that he was in much the same situation as she. A tall man stood behind the chocolatier, his face covered with a dark wool mask. Although she couldn't see a gun, she was sure the man had one pressed into Mr. Wonka's spine.

"We were told you'd be alone," her subjugator whispered harshly into her ear. "Now, Miss Banks. We wouldn't want him to end up like your boyfriend, would we?"

April's nerves blazed as every inch of her burned with an intensity befitting a rabid dog. There was no possible way that any typical mugger could know about that. She was dealing with two men who were well-versed with their homework. And she could not reach her gun even if she dared to try. He would shoot her, and there was so way she could kill them both without a high risk of hitting Mr. Wonka instead.

Her stomach roiled as she shifted her thoughts back to the man's comment. How could they know? Hadn't the loss of him been enough? She swallowed, keeping her eyes firmly directed at Mr. Wonka. "How…do you know about Truman?"

"Friends," hissed the man, pressing the barrel of the gun deeper into her skin. She shuddered with revulsion as he leaned forward and inhaled deeply. "You smell nice, Miss Banks. It almost makes me wish I didn't have to kill you."

"And why is it you have to kill me?" she replied coldly.

"The same reason we're gonna have to kill your friend." The gun shifted to her back. "Now, I wouldn't be very good at my job if I told you who sent me. Although I'm sure that's what you're really wondering."

"But you need me," she pointed out, without flinching in the slightest. "Or else you would have killed me already. Assassins don't usually talk their victims to death."

A harsh laugh soon followed. She could feel the heat of it on her neck. "You FBI types don't miss a beat, do you? All right. We need you. But first…let's take a little walk."

The man's colleague took this as a cue and roughly shoved Mr. Wonka forward, towards the deeper end of the alley. There was very little light further in, and no place to run. Clearly, the chocolatier had a good enough mind not to protest, but the look of absolute terror on his pale face reflected in the light of the streetlamps before it vanished into the shadows. It also reflected in April's eyes.

Suddenly, Willy Wonka did not seem like such a wicked person.

She had little time to think further on the subject, for the man behind her suddenly seized her by the hair and began to drag her into the dimly lit alley. When they stopped, she saw that the other armed man had pitched Mr. Wonka against the dank boards of the wall at the alley's end. When she was finally released, April stood her ground expressionlessly.

The man who had previously been behind her now moved into the open. He was well-built, but his face was also concealed by a ski mask. His gun was leveled at her as he moved towards his partner.

"You can imagine how upset my employer would be if I simply let your friend go," said the husky assassin. "He'd also be quite pissed if I just shot you and got it over with. Bullets are traceable, Miss Banks. But you probably already knew that."

Oh, god. She knew where this was going. _Oh, god, oh god…this can't be happening. There has to be a way out of this. A loophole. Something._

"So I'm gonna make you a little proposition," the man went on. He lifted his gun so it was level with her head. "You're gonna take your gun, and put a bullet in his head," he said, pointing artfully towards Mr. Wonka. "Then you're gonna put a bullet in your head. Are there any questions?"

"You're an asshole," she said with suppressed anger, "if you think I'm going to go through with that. You can just as easily take my gun and do it yourself."

"See, that would be where you're wrong," he growled. "It just so happens, Miss Banks, that I'm a sick man. At least look at the bright side. No more poisonings."

And this was what Mr. Wonka could not bear to hear. Blank-faced, he pointed at the pair of thugs. "You've been making people sick!" he exclaimed. "With _my_ chocolate!"

"Our job isn't nearly as colourful," said the second man, speaking for the first time. His gun-arm was trained on the chocolatier without so much as a twitch. "But we try."

Without warning, April's captor reached out and seized the handle of her gun from its holster, which resided in her jacket. He held it out with a gloved hand. "At least we're giving you the option, princess," he remarked.

He shoved the gun into her hand. She nearly dropped it in disgust, but remained as rigid as a post when he stepped back and dug the tip of his own weapon into her scalp. April closed her eyes, and slowly lifted her arms to aim the gun at the chocolatier. She even managed to remain inexpressive when Mr. Wonka recoiled slightly, making a sound that sounded extraordinarily like a child's whimper.

For a suffocating moment, no one moved.

There was a hollow click. April pressed down on the button on the side of the grip. The gun clip clattered to the ground. In the same, no-bullshit manner, she pulled at the top chamber of the gun, emptying its magazine of the last bullet. Then she lowered her arm and loosened her fingers. The gun joined the clip on the ground.

"Wrong choice," rasped the man. He grabbed her hair and jerked his gun towards Mr. Wonka.

And then the alleyway erupted in a flood of light and sound. A great gust of wind pounded down on the alley inhabitants from above, momentarily stunning the two armed men. The one with a fistful of April's hair bellowed a curse and shot straight upwards, though where the bullets landed could not be told through the commotion. April was thrown roughly into the wall. Her head struck brick and she dropped, half-conscious.

Through the roar of the glass elevator's engines, Willy heard Charlie shouting his name. The elevator descended slowly, until its great floodlights no longer shone in their faces and it hovered several feet above their heads. It barely fit into the narrow alley and could not lower any further without endangering those who were below it.

Mr. Wonka reached towards the elevator, as if meaning to grab it. "Charlie!"

The second man did not waste a moment more, but instead grabbed Mr. Wonka by the collar and hauled him away from the wooden boards. That was as far as he got, however, before a very small body leapt upon him from above. A split moment later, three more little men came plummeting from the elevator, armed with a vibrantly striped rope. With curious professionalism, they looped it around his thick neck and used their combined weight to toss him backwards. He was down.

As soon as the Oompa Loompas had made their fall, Mr. Wonka found himself pitched forwards. He landed roughly on the paved ground, jarring his chin on something oddly shaped. It was Miss Banks' shoe. His head snapped up as he half-rose off the ground and saw her struggling to stand up, still disoriented from the bump on her head.

But now, despite Charlie's fruitless yelling and the efforts of the Oompa Loompas, the second man had dislodged them by flailing his arms. The first one, April's captor, was busily batting them away as they slid down ropes from the elevator floor and continuously barraged him. They were doing what they came to do: buy their employer time to escape.

Without thinking, Willy seized Miss Banks by the sleeve and started pulling her towards the street. Luckily, she was recovering quickly and responded to his intent, stumbling after him in a blindness that nearly made her careen into the wall again. The two men immediately became aware of their quarry's intent to flee and tore themselves out of the squalling platoon of Oompa Loompas, guns drawn. They fired simultaneously as they ran, aiming clumsily for the retreating backs of the chocolatier and the FBI agent.

Sparks erupted from the metal dumpster as the bullets missed their marks. They ducked and ran, April following Mr. Wonka in a heedless manner. Stumbling again, she yelled and paused only long enough to reach down and yank the horrible high-heeled shoes from her feet. Then she continued to run barefooted.

Gunshots from behind told them that their pursuers were not yet shaken. April knew for a fact that simply running was not going to save them. Sooner or later, a lucky bullet would strike. They had to take cover somewhere, or hide, or—

Yet there, straight ahead, no further than two hundred feet or so, were the gates to Mr. Wonka's factory. She had been so entirely drunk, so petrified, that she hadn't been aware of how close to the facility she was. For the first time, and probably the last, she was absolutely delighted to see it. More than delighted. Ecstatic. The possibility of refuge refueled her weary, aching body whilst she rushed on.

She was only dimly aware of the startled voices of the few people who dared look out their windows. She only saw the blue velvet coat of the man in front of her rippling as he fled for his life. The sound of his laboured breathing, the solid thudding of boots striking the pavement. The shots as they rang out in their wake.

For a moment – a blind one, for everything was jumbled together – she swore she saw him stagger. Just a split second. Then it was naught but imagination. They raced through the gates, under the stone arch and into the vast, gray courtyard.

The men were right behind them. No more shots were being fired, likely because they were out of ammo and were still crazed by the buzz of the chase. In a flash, April saw the two little men (impossible!) on the inside of the door to the factory. They were sitting in machines that resembled turrets, painted in bright colours to match their eccentric uniforms; one on either side of the door. The puppet display was gone.

Soundlessly, the two turret-like contraptions turned to target their pursuers. It was only a glimpse she saw of the small man-like creature sitting in the machine to her left. But she swore that he was smiling. Or rather, smirking.

The turrets fired. Two swirled, fist-sized, round globes shot straight into the faces of the men as they reached the steps, dead on. The projectiles exploded with bursts of disgusting green goo, covering their cheeks, foreheads and necks heavily. However, the force of their impact had already knocked them out cold and they dropped like stones.

Too distracted by happenings inside the factory to care, April reeled on her frostbitten feet past the turrets and nearly toppled over Mr. Wonka, who knelt curiously on the floor just where the red carpet of the hall met the stone of the entranceway.

She stepped back in surprise when the two small men in the turrets leapt from their posts and ran towards the frozen chocolatier. It was then she saw that Mr. Wonka was scrambling to remove his blue velvet coat as if it had caught flame. She approached him, a sharp inquiry on his behaviour lying on the tip of her tongue.

Until she saw the red stain.A bullet had clearly skimmed his shoulder, laying out a deep, bloody gash.He was looking at the blood on his palm as if seeing it for the first time. His face was even paler than normal, bordering insane disbelief.Then, slowly, he lowered his hand and whispered, "Charlie."

Charlie…? April shook her head, not grasping his meaning.

A second later, she understood with a lurch of queasiness. The blood on Mr. Wonka's fingers was not his – his wound was too far out of reach. If it was not his, then there was only one other possibility...

The blood was Charlie's.

* * *

AN: Threw you off by the sneak peek, didn't I? Don't worry. I won't do it again. Promise.

**Funny Word Glossary**

_Hornglobber_: Ever more terrifying than a Whangsnozzer or even a Vermicious Knid. Basically a globule creature with hundreds of small horns sticking out its back like porcupine quills. Each little horn is filled with poison, and though rare, are well-known for preying on Oompa Loompas in their natural habitat.

* * *

_Sneak Peek: _Charlie's fate, Daniel's fate, April's fate, Mr. Wonka's…ah, heck. The fate of everybody. 


	10. Fate

_Strange Candy_

**Summary: **On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

**Notes: **I'm surprised. You've all waited so patiently for this chapter and I'm oh-so-happy to give it to you…with explicit apologies, of course. Sorry. I've had a lot to do, and I nearly lost myself in the torrent of new obsessions…you other writers know what I'm talking about. Heh. But yeah. Thanks Trillah, for reviewing and reminding me of my duty…hehe, that's right, I said 'doody'…but no time to laugh about it now. On with the chapter.

As promised (in an allegorical way…hehehe…look it up.) I will explain most, if not all, of the unforeseen, cliffhangerish events that took place prior to this chapter. Oh, you must hate/love me…

**Disclaimer:** Consult previous chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Ten: Fate_

Charlie woke with his face pressed against cold cement. He lay quite still while trying to determine how and why he had come to be here…and exactly where 'here' was. The floor was smooth, which meant he was inside…but where inside?

Where were Mr. Wonka and Miss Banks? What happened to the glass elevator? What about the Oompa Loompas?

He groaned, now feeling the stiffness in his arms and legs. Tentatively, he pulled his arms beneath him and tried to sit up, but a sharp stab of pain in his forearm made him collapse on the ground again. A throbbing sensation started in his arm, filling the limb with an intense, bitter fire.

Someone had stripped his sweater off, which left him in a tee-shirt. The floor was just as icy against his back as it was before. Now that he had his vision back, he could see his breath faintly in the air as he exhaled, short bursts of vapour that bloomed and vanished into the air every split second or so. Charlie forced himself to relax and closed his eyes, trying to recall what had happened when he had followed Mr. Wonka the night before…

* * *

_Charlie's heart pounded sickeningly. Mr. Wonka was in trouble! He knew he shouldn't have, but he had followed the chocolatier to his meeting with Miss Banks. And when those two men had come out of nowhere, Charlie had been hiding several yards away behind a post-box. He knew better than to try to shout a warning. They would find him, too, and there would be no one left to run for help._

_And yet, despite all this functioning logic, Charlie could not make himself turn and flee. He tore his eyes away, blinking back tears of panic when the man holding Miss Banks captive announced his plans for Mr. Wonka. When he looked again, he almost bit his tongue in shock. His eyes locked onto Mr. Wonka's frightened face. Mr. Wonka was looking straight at _him

_Charlie's jaw dropped slightly, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. That was not just fear in the chocolatier's eyes, it was _hurt_. Charlie had broken his promise, and now Mr. Wonka was silently begging him to not do so again. All in that brief chance that their eyes met._

_And then the man holding his mentor shoved him into the alley. Charlie was not sure why he chose _that_ moment to dash back to the elevator. But he knew that he would lose Mr. Wonka tonight. He would _not_ live to make any more chocolate or teach, or say witty things that were almost utter nonsense again, if Charlie did not find help._

_He knew where he would find help, no questions asked. He would get the Oompa Loompas. Somehow._

_To his utmost surprise, the moment Charlie and the elevator reached the factory, the courtyard was already swarming with Oompa Loompas rushing to and fro. As the elevator descended to the ground, they gathered like so many little magnets around its glass walls. _

_Before he could even get a word in edgewise about Mr. Wonka's predicament, the muttering, whispering crowd parted and a group of eight Oompa Loompas, suited entirely in black vinyl and sporting rather bulky-looking tool belts stepped forward. Charlie backed up against the far wall in order to let them board, which they did, lacking any explanation._

_One of the 'specialized' Oompa Loompas punched a button that was, amazingly, just low enough for him to reach. To Charlie's further astonishment, that one button then lit up and split into six smaller ones. The Oompa Loompa looked over his shoulder, bobbed his head, and pressed his palm on two of those buttons simultaneously. _

_Charlie was almost thrown clear off his feet as the elevator rocketed into the night air. It came to an abrupt halt, tossing him into the air. And suddenly, it was off again, at a breakneck speed he had not known the flying machine was capable of._

_His only rational thought during the extreme, yet insanely short spree wondered how the Oompa Loompas knew where they were going. He hadn't even told them where Mr. Wonka was!_

_So naturally, when the elevator veered away from the spot he'd been spying on Mr. Wonka and the FBI lady, a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. "No, wait! Where are we-"_

_The rest of his sentence ended up splattered against the glass, because the force of the elevator suddenly coming to another dead halt threw him against the doors. Charlie stumbled back, looking around him frantically. "Why did we-"_

_"Shhhhh!" chorused the gaggle of Oompa Loompas. One of them, apparently the leader of the 'rescue team', gestured downwards. Charlie looked through the glass floor._

_One of the strange men grabbed Mr. Wonka by the collar and pitched him against the wooden boards that blocked the alley. Charlie watched with mounting horror as the events unfolded. For the worst moment of his life, he was sure April Banks would shoot his mentor._

_"Now! _Please, _do something!" he shouted at the Oompa Loompas. The leader only looked up at Charlie and shook his head gravely. The boy stared, slack-jawed. Why weren't they helping Mr. Wonka!_

_He threw his attention to the floor again, only in time to see Miss Banks open her hand and let the gun clatter to the ground. A surge of relief swept through him briefly, only to be replaced with alarm when the man behind her grabbed a handful of her blond curls and prepared to shoot the chocolatier himself._

_At last, the leader Oompa Loompa jammed a small finger on the two bottom mini-buttons. The elevator plummeted, the large floodlights attached to the motors snapping to life. At the same time, Charlie lunged for another button – his thumb struck it, and the door slid open to admit a whirlwind of air and angry shouts._

_"Mr. Wonka!" he cried, thrusting his upper body out into the opening. His eyes were not adjusting to the light from above; he tried to shield it from his vision unsuccessfully._

_He was sure he felt the pain before he heard the gunshot. Something bit into his left arm, nicking him just below the elbow. He didn't even scream. He drew the bleeding arm close to his body, despite the raw agony it was causing him, and once against yelled for Mr. Wonka. Grappling the glass door with his good arm, he reached out with the injured one in a futile attempt to reach the chocolatier._

_Suddenly, Mr. Wonka was jerked away, under the elevator and out of Charlie's field of sight. At once, he felt numerous pairs of tiny hands grab his shirt from behind and he found himself pulled back into the elevator. He thought he heard one of them say something in a scolding manner, but it wasn't clear. Then he saw one of them jump out of the open door. And then three more. And after a mere second or two, they were all gone, leaving Charlie alone in the elevator._

_Charlie scrambled to his feet. Regardless of his wound, he staggered to the door once again and leaned out. The alley had become eerily quieter. Mr. Wonka, Miss Banks and the two men were gone. He saw three of the Oompa Loompas standing directly below the elevator; a fourth lying sprawled against the brick wall, looking half-conscious. Charlie held his breath and dashed to the other side of the elevator. Hands pressed against the glass, he attempted to make out the end of the alley, but he saw nothing but the glow the street lamp. And he heard distant gunfire._

_He had to follow them! The other Oompa Loompas must have run after the two men in a futile attempt to catch them. But the elevator…he could stop them with the elevator. It was only thing he could think of that might buy Mr. Wonka some more time to reach the factory._

_The elevator suddenly pitched to one side. It began to shake violently, as though it were being pummeled by a ton of falling bricks. The next thing Charlie knew, the humming of the engines died. And the glass elevator plunged._

_Built as it was, it did not shatter on impact with ground. It did, however, send a violent shock through Charlie's body. The elevator groaned as it vibrated, then slowly began to teeter on edge. And then it fell flat onto its rectangular side, taking Charlie with it._

_Miraculously, he was still conscious and, in spite of the pain in his forearm, he was unharmed. He began to dizzily grope for a handhold to pull himself out of the doorway that was now just above his head. His fingers met the cool glass of the doorframe. Gripping it, he hauled himself into a standing position._

_All he saw was the vague shape of a man. And then someone behind him threw an arm around his shoulder and pressed a wet, horrible smelling cloth over his mouth and nose._

_Charlie coughed and yelled for just a moment, before he succumbed to the fumes and passed out, sagging in his captor's embrace._

* * *

The memory of the incident was so vivid. And so was the injury on his arm. Numbly, Charlie lifted it in front of his face to examine it for the first time, and found that it was not quite as terrible as he'd first thought. Someone had wrapped a white bandage around it, though it was slightly stained by dried blood. But it was only a scratch – a deep one, but a scratch nonetheless.

Charlie slowly sat up, relieved to find a wooden box to his immediate left that he could lean on. After that awkward struggle, he at last focused on the room he was now located it.

What he saw both surprised him and, apparently, surprised the other occupants as well.

"Loompaland, he's awake!"

Now that, Charlie was sure, was the voice of an Oompa Loompa. Despite its sonorous tone, it still had the elf-like quality to it that only an Oompa Loompa could boast. And sure enough, there were three of them crowding around him. None of them, he realized, seemed to be hurt. And none of them were the leader of the 'rescue team', either. How he knew this…it escaped all logic, but somehow Charlie knew.

Still, he _was_ put off by the fact an Oompa Loompa had spoken. They usually never said anything, preferring to use their traditional sign language and noise-making as their native tongue. They knew speech, of course, and spoke it when absolutely necessary.

He supposed that now was a time that they would absolutely consider 'necessary'.

One of them made a brief comment to the others via hand signals. Charlie could not interpret this—he was only a beginner at their language (which was, surprisingly, very complex). And then the one who had spoken before turned to him.

"Is the Young Master feeling well again?"

It sunk in a moment later that he was being addressed and Charlie squirmed to lift himself higher so that he could sit perfectly upright. "I…I'm all right. Did…you do this?" he said, lifting his injured arm to indicate the bandage. "And…what did you call me?"

The three Oompa Loompas nodded their heads, apparently in response to his first question. They exchanged glances at the second, and chuckling softly, replied.

"You are the heir to the one who owns the factory, the Master who makes cocoa beans. That makes you the Young Master."

Though it was logical, Charlie was still not entirely sure he felt comfortable being called master of anything, even a young one. Trying to seem unaffected by it, he blinked and looked around the small room. It was about the same size as the Inventing Room, he guessed. It was full of crates and empty burlap bags all bound together with twine. The floor hummed lightly beneath him, assuring him that there were machines running somewhere nearby.

"We're not back at the factory, are we?" he said miserably, relaxing against the rough texture of the wood.

The Oompa Loompas shook their heads empathetically.

Just then, Charlie realized something. "Wait, weren't there four of you? Where's the other one?"

And the Oompa Loompas just shook their heads again, implying that they too, did not know the fate of their companion. Charlie could tell that it clearly troubled them, and why wouldn't it? To them, he was a fellow Oompa Loompa and quite evidently, one much loved. A lump formed in Charlie's throat when he thought of this.

"I'm sorry," he said, lowering his head. "I'm the reason this happened. I broke my promise to Mr. Wonka."

"I doubt the Master would agree," insisted another of the Oompa Loompas. Not unexpectedly, his voice was several octaves higher than the first speaker. "We watch you all the time. It's our job. The Master loves you very much."

That statement both made Charlie tremendously happy and horribly guilty at the same time. He managed a wry smile, but could not get past the action of lifting the corners of his mouth. He tried to swallow, but he found that it was painful and made the urge to cry even worse. "But I let him down. I thought I was doing the right thing, and…"

This time, when the Oompa Loompas exchanged glances, there was some unease between them. None of the three knew how to even begin consoling an eleven-year-old boy, much less a human one. Instead, the first Oompa Loompa, the baritone made a brief hand gesture to his teammates and tried to look cheerfully at Charlie. "We have been listening to the men talk for hours. The Master and the tall lady are safe. His attackers were taken to jail."

Hope surged through him. He leaned forward. "Did they say anything else?"

Again, the Oompa Loompas gave each other nervous glances. Charlie's spirits dropped. "We were unable to learn more, for the voices went away."

"Oh," said the young chocolatier, a bit plainly. "I don't suppose you found a way out of here, either. I wish I could get a hold of Mr. Wonka somehow, to tell him, to tell my parents…"

Charlie let that thought linger as he picked himself off the floor, using the crate behind him for balance. It dawned on him then that his present location was even not as empty than it had seemed on the ground. The walls were stone, lined with what appeared to be piles of coarse black powder. His gaze traveled along until it reached the door, and the last remnants of his hope died. Three, no, four inches of thick steel and a window no larger than his hand barred his to freedom. This was no storage cellar. It was a fall-out shelter.

"We investigated the entire perimeter," one of the Oompa Loompas explained in the background. "The black substance on the walls appears to be gunpowder and several of the wooden boxes have many containers of flammable liquid inside."

Of course, the meaning of this was no within Charlie's capability to grasp. Why would his captors lock him in a room that was ready to burst into flames at the mention of a spark? He knew _why_ he'd been kidnapped. They wanted Mr. Wonka to pay all kinds of money to get him back, but then why…?

He did not finish that thought, for a loud rustling sound jerked his attention towards the corner of the room. A window had been cut into the stone, roughly two feet in width and breadth. It had been sealed up with packed dirt, but was located far too high up for Charlie to reach up and scrape it away. Not that he needed to, because it was quite clear that someone on the other side was trying to do just that. Bits of soil broke away and tumbled onto the stone floor as the peculiar scratching noises went on.

"Hey!" Charlie cried, scrambling over top of the stacks of crates to reach the window. He was only remotely aware of the Oompa Loompas, who were using their own methods of scaling the wooden mountain. "We're down here! Help!"

By now, he was standing on top of the pile of crates, staring incredulously at the window. He opened his mouth to yell again, but a tug on his left pant leg made him look down. An Oompa Loompa gave him a stern look, and he understood immediately. The more noise he made, the likelier it was that his captor would come investigating the commotion.

Just then, the corner of the dirt barricade crumbled and revealed a small hole and…a furry little nose. The tiny whiskers trembled for a moment before withdrawing again. A moment later, the edges of the hole gave way to make it even larger, and a familiar rodent body came tumbling through.

Oswald squeaked as he struck the pile of burlap bags underneath the window. Charlie leapt from his perch and dashed to retrieve the unfortunate ferret from the mess of strings and rotted glue. Immediately, Oswald climbed onto his sleeve and ventured onto his shoulder.

Struck wordless with surprise and relief, Charlie could only reach up in wonder to take the object that was clenched in the ferret's teeth. It was an FBI badge.

* * *

"For the last time, Mr. Wonka, the FBI is already taking care of the situation!"

In an event of such severity, it was only natural that tempers and voices would flare. April was no given exception to this rule. Right now, she was very, _very_ agitated.

Mr. Wonka himself was in such a state of frenzied worry, she had considered more than once ordering an emergency sedative to calm him down. She had discarded the possibility on the grounds of immorality. Besides, she wasn't even sure if a tranquilizer would have any effect.

Right now, those sharp violet eyes were giving her the stare-down from the enormous desk in the middle of the room. Behind him were many more desks, much smaller ones suited for the little men who were entering, leaving, bickering, standing, scribbling on and exchanging papers, running to and fro, and in some cases, giggling. One of them was standing on a rather tall stool, tending delicately to the wound the chocolatier had earned during the flight.

April was still trying to register their existence.

They were not the only occupants of the room, of course. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket were sitting in large, over-stuffed chairs to the side of the room. Mrs. Bucket was cradling Daniel and staring wistfully at the coffee table (or 'hot chocolate table, according to Willy) whilst her husband wrung his hands over and over again, looking about nervously.

Two more men stood in the room. One of them was Agent Wallstein, bearing his plump, aging body with the air of one falsely concerned. The other man was CEO of the International branch of the Bureau, Patrick Gollins, who had deemed the kidnapping of the heir of the most popular candy factory in the world worthy enough for his presence.

"Mr. Wonka," said Gollins gruffly, in the manner one uses when unsure of the sanity the addressee possesses. "What I think Agent Banks is attempting to convey to you is…we are one hundred percent sure that our agency can handle your…successor's disappearance-"

"Charlie didn't disappear!" the chocolatier interrupted surly. "He was kidnapped and…and _hurt_, and goodness knows where he might be! He might halfway to the North Pole by now!"

Gollins just cleared his throat. "Charlie is fine, Mr. Wonka. The best course of action now is to simply wait for a ransom note, and we'll play it from there."

"I don't understand," sighed Mrs. Bucket, he voice hoarse from crying. "Who would possibly want to kidnap Charlie? I knew Mr. Wonka had adversaries, but-"

"Slugworth and Prodnose?" scoffed Willy, leaning forward in his chair. The Oompa Loompa attending to his gun wound frowned and reached out to continue patting away at the gash. Willy looked sour. "Oh, they're clever no doubt, but neither one of them could possibly kidnap Charlie. They _like_ Charlie. Almost as much as _I_ like Charlie, and that, my dear Mrs. B, is even more than I can say! And I like to say a _lot_."

There was a slight pause where no one spoke at all.

Mr. Wonka leaned back in his chair, looking sullen. "I still think my Oompa Loompas-"

"-aren't the solution to the problem, Mr. Wonka, and most likely never will be," finished Wallstein, lumbering over to the chocolatier's desk. "You can't be sure who's watching the factory. Worst thing to do is get the press involved. Although I'm sure they'd have a field day if they discovered your…ehm, _magical_ little workers."

"How is it he knows what he's doing?" said Gollins, gesturing at the Oompa Loompa tending the chocolatier's shoulder.

Willy blinked and glanced skeptically at the Oompa Loompa to his right, as though realizing there was one there for the first time. "Oh…Winslow?" He chuckled nervously. "These cagey little guys are the best learners in the world. Did you know it only took three days for them to learn how to speak English? Like they knew it all along. Heh."

"That doesn't quite answer my question, Mr. Wonka," Gollins pointed out.

"Doesn't explain why I like blackberries more than snozchberries either, but I'm not nitpicky," Mr. Wonka retorted.

The CEO's face tinged with red, a sign that he was not taking the chocolatier's evasion of logic pleasantly. "I hope you realize, Mr. Wonka, that should the FBI discover that you had any hand in this boy's kidnapping, your title _and_ your factory can be revoked in a day's notice."

Surprisingly enough, it was none other than Mr. Bucket who took immediate offense to this. Charlie's father jumped to his feet, jittering slightly with the repressed urge to sock the hefty man. "I beg you pardon, Mr. Gollins, but I feel that you have overstayed your welcome. Willy?"

Willy seemed to snap out of a strange daze. "Um…yeah, of course. A-Actually, I kind of…think I'd rather be alone for now. If it's okay with Mrs. B…Mrs. B?"

Charlie's mother looked up, forcing a small smile. "Of course, Willy. It's been a long night, for everyone. You've been through a great ordeal. You need rest…" She sighed.

"You look like you could do with the same," remarked April, ignoring the stares of the men around her. "Giving birth to one son and finding out another was abducted on the same day. I thought my life was over-dramatic."

"Banks, I need you and Wallstein back on the streets, doing your jobs," said Gollins, turning away from Mr. Wonka's desk and stalking towards the door that led to the way out. "I want results from the blood found inside the elevator and prints by nine o'clock this morning. Your other assignment is hiatus until further notice."

Wallstein just shook his head and followed Gollins out the door. Mr. Bucket helped his wife to her feet, whom offered Mr. Wonka a reassuring glance before allowing herself to be led out of the room. This left Willy and April alone with the Oompa Loompas.

Then, oddly enough, without so much as a word or hint to their reasoning, the Oompa Loomaps stopped working as a whole. And as a whole, they began to move off in lines, exiting the room via smaller doors on the sides of the rooms. Even Winslow, who had finished bandaging his employer's injury, climbed down from the stool and joined the others. Before long, April and Mr. Wonka truly _were_ the only ones remaining in his office.

Willy twisted his head left and right, clearly perplexed by the Oompa Loompas' behavior. "Well, that's weird," he said, scrunching his brow oddly. "Huh."

April stood with her arms crossed. She said nothing as the chocolatier stood up, removing his coat from the back of the chair and carefully putting it back on. Then he circled around the desk and was just about to pass her when he paused, turned, and gave her a strange look.

After a moment, he put his cane out in front of him and frowned. "You're going to say something mean, aren't you."

As mildly amusing as she found this, April shook her head. "Words fail me, Mr. Wonka."

"They do that for you, too?" The chocolatier grinned insincerely.

"I thought you would have realized by now," she went on firmly. "I'm immune to your adorable clown act."

To her utmost, yet clinically hidden surprise, Mr. Wonka's fake grin faded instantly. And he looked almost…serious for the moment. Modest. Human.

"Yeah, well…" Willy spun sharply and began to stalk away.

April inhaled deeply, wondering just what she was doing. "Wait."

Willy waited. In fact, he stopped so suddenly, it could be said that he had been expecting her to stop him in the first place.

Which was ridiculous, of course.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" April wanted to know.

Without turning back to face her, Mr. Wonka nodded, his top hat bobbing with the action. He leaned onto his case without saying anything.

April struggled with her conscience. "F-Fine. I admit it. You were right. I…regret that I suspected you for the…the poisonings. Are you happy now?"

For a moment, she was sure he was going to nod again. Instead, the chocolatier brought himself about to meet her eye-to-eye. "Would you be amazed to know that I'm not?"

She smiled. For real. For the first time. "Would you mind telling me why?"

"Would you mind if I didn't?" he said.

The air between them was near on breathable by now. Perhaps it was the fact that they had just shared a life-threatening experience together, nearly faced death in the same instant and conquered evil, but she was beginning to understand him. In some way, somehow, the way he was, was so entirely…human.

_Human, or…Truman?_ A voice taunted her in her mind. She shoved it aside.

"Mr. Wonka," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Right now, I'm not April Banks, FBI agent, patriotic American. Let's just say I'm April, a quickly aging, grouchy woman who wants to apologize for acting like a…like…"

"A wicked Wangdoodle?" he suggested.

"Sure, a wicked…whatever that is," she agreed. "I'll assume that's bad. But I acted like one. And I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said, a little sadly. "I kinda got used to being…y'know…but…right now, all I want is for Charlie to be back. I deserve to be tossed in the garbage chute and incinerated. And I'd do all that and more, oh so _much_ more, just to…to have him back."

"You will. Of that I'm going to make sure, come hell or high water," April promised. It was strange, the feeling of the cold, melting ice sliding off her heart. "We'll find him, okay?"

Mr. Wonka looked distant, if at all responsive. "'Kay," he replied softly.

* * *

_Sneak Peek:_ Another reason FBI agents shouldn't be trusted, a startling discovery, and of course, the plan of action.


End file.
